


A Home for Christmas

by LittleSixx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Good Draco Malfoy, HP: EWE, POV Hermione Granger, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-War, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Romantic Fluff, Wizarding Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-01-30 14:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12655041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSixx/pseuds/LittleSixx
Summary: Of all the things Hermione Granger wanted for Christmas, a fake relationship never made the list. It might just be the best present she's ever received.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JusticeForYadi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JusticeForYadi/gifts), [hoshiakari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoshiakari/gifts), [silverbellekait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverbellekait/gifts), [ilinaresv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilinaresv/gifts), [Ivory_Feather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivory_Feather/gifts), [Kylia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylia/gifts).



> The plot is a straight-up ripoff of "The Mistletoe Promise" on the Hallmark Channel. It's one of my favourite Christmas movies. There is a fair amount of expletives in this fic, though.
> 
> I gifted this work to just a few of my lovely commenters from my Dramione WIP, who are a continuous source of much-needed encouragement. Y’all deserve something that’s not quite so sad and I think you may enjoy this fic. (If not and you would like to be removed from the gifted bar, comment to let me know!) This piece was requested by JusticeForYadi. I hope it makes y’all smile a bit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected rescue turns into a strange arrangement.

_Stable!_

That’s what Penelope said they were looking for, as though Hermione did not fit that description. She was perfectly fucking stable, thank you very much. Aside from the divorce, the constant flat-hopping, and overbearing commitment to her job, she was perfectly stable. Penelope Clearwater, Executive Assistant to the Minister for Magic, had tried to be delicate.

“You work late six nights a week, Hermione. You don’t become Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation at twenty-five otherwise, and you are brilliant. We all know it. You have been doing wonderful work there for five years. Problem is, Padma Patil and Cormac McLaggen are up for the position as well and …” She paused to sigh and look Hermione directly in the eyes.

“After everything that happened, there is some doubt that you are stable enough to be Senior Undersecretary. Cormac and Padma have families and homes, things that keep them grounded. The sort of thing that keeps your head on straight. Given the history of some in this position,” she needn’t say Dolores Umbridge’s name, “Minister Shacklebolt wants to ensure whomever he selects will have perspective on those other important aspects of wizarding life.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and anger flooded her tone.

“A spouse and a house? It doesn’t matter that I am the most productive employee in the high offices? I will be rejected because I don’t have a spouse or a house?”

“Hey, I am coming to you as a courtesy, Granger!” Penelope snapped. “I want them to choose you, but you need to show that you have a life outside the Ministry.”

“Well I do have a life outside the Ministry!” Hermione lied. “I have a boyfriend and … and we may even move in together. Timing couldn’t be better.”

“Well,” Penelope said skeptically, “then you must bring this mysterious boyfriend, who you certainly didn’t just make up, to the office parties and then to the retreat where the committee will select the new Undersecretary.”

So Hermione forcefully threw open the door to Rosa Lee’s Teabag on her lunch break, fuming and mumbling to herself about outdated wizarding traditions. It was the middle of November, but that did not stop the world from wholeheartedly embracing Hermione’s least-favourite holiday. The tea shoppe walls were lined with garland, fake snow fell from the ceiling, and each table had a shrunken, fully-decorated Christmas tree next to the sugar.

As a group of carol singers surrounded Hermione Granger, she shrunk into her chair and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. She did not need carol singers, it was just one step too far. It was still November! Christmas season seemed to start earlier each year, and each year Hermione only wished for it to go by more quickly. She looked up at the singing crew of witches and wizards in complementary red and green robes, and thought of how perfect it was. This was the perfect topper for the shittiest day she had in ages.

Out of nowhere, a mysterious voice in her ear whispered for her to “play along.” Before she could ask what he meant, for it was certainly a man, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Darling!” he shouted, just loud enough to be convincing. “The Healer said our son should be cured of Dragon Pox any day now!”

The carolers abruptly stopped singing. They looked at each other for about five seconds before they scuttled along to the next table. She sighed in relief, chuckled, and picked some of the fake snowflakes out of her hair.

Hermione looked up to thank her yuletide saviour … Draco Malfoy?

Those grey eyes and that white-blond hair were unmistakable. He wore a devious smile, but his eyes crinkled at the corners now and their mischievous glint was only half-baked. He slid into the chair across from Hermione and said,

“You’re welcome, Granger. You looked like you were being tortured.”

“It’s fine,” Hermione replied. “Thank you. Christmas is not my favourite time of year and it seems to start earlier and earlier each time it comes around.”

“I have my own Christmas ghosts as well,” Draco replied. He nodded absentmindedly and looked away.

The conversation stalled there, with Hermione unsure how to move forward. Should she ask what he meant? What did it matter, they hadn’t seen each other in years. She knew nothing about his life since ... Well, since Ron. Post-Ron, nothing about anyone’s social life mattered. The cavern in Hermione’s chest where her heart should have been was filled only by ambition and the occasional smiles Ron shot her in the hallway at work. She didn’t have enough time for her own life anymore, let alone keeping up with anyone else.

“Are you … good?” Hermione attempted, then cringed. Draco smiled a bit.

“Yeah, Granger, I am good. I have,” Draco sipped his tea, “everything I need. No complaints.” He may have asked how she was doing or something about international magical cooperation and Blast-Ended Skrewts for all Hermione knew. Her eyes were drawn to Draco’s left hand as he wiped the corner of his mouth.

“I thought you were married,” Hermione blurted out. She wished she could grab the words out of the air and stuff them back down her throat before Draco heard them. His face fell and he dropped his eyes to stare at his tea. He stirred it a bit before replying,

“I was.”

“No more?”

“No more,” Draco confirmed.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione apologized. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Yeah,” Draco mumbled. Hermione nodded along.

“Really, I—”

“It’s fine, Granger. I should, um, I should get going.” He pushed his chair back a little too forcefully.

“Yeah,” Hermione acquiesced as Draco stood to leave. He turned around and hesitated before asking,

“Walk me out?”

An idea was blooming in the recesses of Hermione’s brain. It was terrible; she knew she should decline Draco’s invitation and bolt back to the Ministry. Work is safe, important, and necessary.

Perhaps, for once, work could wait. She rose to stand at Draco’s side and he held the shoppe’s door open for her. Hermione shivered a bit in the cold and stuffed her hands in her pockets. Diagon Alley was packed at lunchtime, and more than one passerby stopped to stare at the duo as they walked along the street.

“I apologize for being curt with you,” Draco said. “My personal tolerance for talk of my love life is very, very low. My friends seem to think it’s time I start dating again. Haranguing me for the past year about how I need to ‘at least try,’ as Pansy says. They say it has been two years but, really, it has  _only_  been two years, you know?”

“I know,” Hermione responded. “Ron and I split up five years ago and I still …”

“You were always too good for him,” Draco insisted, offhand.

“That’s not true,” Hermione stared very intently at the ground. “We just didn’t work. We were different people and I think he started to resent me after awhile. We grew apart because I was always at work. Mark my words Draco Malfoy, I am going to be Minister for Magic one day. I thought dedication would get me there, but apparently I was wrong,” Hermione quipped.

“Apparently?” Draco asked.

“It turns out, Padma Patil and Cormac McLaggen are ahead of me for the open Undersecretary position.”

“Padma was always a quick study but Cormac, really? He has the brains of a box of puffapods.”

“Well he has a family and a steady place to live, which are unofficial requirements for the committee. They say it gives you ‘perspective’ and ‘stability,’” Hermione practically spat the words out.

“You do not have a place to live?”

“I tend to … drift,” Hermione said. She could tell Draco knew there was more to that story, and was grateful he did not press the matter. The idea had fully flowered and she could barely contain it. “Then I told someone I would bring my nonexistent boyfriend to the office parties and mentioned we may be moving in together soon. The entire office is expecting me to reveal a secret life I don’t have, and it may be the only way to get the job I deserve.”

Draco laughed as they passed Fortescue’s.

“I wish I had the gall to pull that off. A pretend girlfriend to get my friends to leave my life well alone for a bit. It’s hard to move on when it is all everyone tells you to do. They never gave me time to learn how to do it again.”

“Would you—” Hermione stopped herself. This was a bad idea. Such a bad idea.

“What?” Draco asked. Before Hermione could respond he shouted, “Ah! Flourish and Blotts! This is my stop, Granger.”

Hermione blurted out, “Would you do me a huge favour and pretend to be my boyfriend?”

Draco looked at her, his eyes narrowed, trying to find the joke.

“Granger, I don’t know you, you don’t know me … We aren’t …”

“I know, I know,” Hermione said. “I hated you, but it would make more sense that we kept it quiet. I know I’m not as pretty as the other women you’ve—”

“You believe my objection is because I don’t think you’re pretty? Merlin, Hermione, just how big of an arsehole do you believe I am?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Hermione shook her head. “This was stupid, I shouldn’t have asked.” She turned to walk away but Draco grabbed her arm.

“Wait!” he demanded. “Wait, maybe it isn’t stupid. Maybe we could make this beneficial for the both of us. I owe you a debt, so would this suffice as repayment?”

When Hermione insisted Draco owed her nothing, he ground his teeth together and his jaw clenched reflexively. His grip tightened on her forearm.

“There is no clemency for bystanders.”

She knew what he meant, and she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t the worst moment of her life. Even worse than when Ron left, even worse than watching Hagrid carry what she believed to be Harry’s body back from the forest. Writhing on the floor of Malfoy Manor, she focused on one platinum blond head upside-down in her sightline. Draco Malfoy stood by as his aunt tortured Hermione.

Some things in life do not need to be spoken aloud. Draco’s regret was evident in his self-deprecating tone, and Hermione felt his need to repay her in the way his fingers clutched at her. Draco dragged her closer like this was an opportunity he didn’t realize he was waiting for.

“Let me do this, Granger,” he insisted. “Let me do it and I swear on Merlin’s grave we will make you Senior Undersecretary. I owe you that much.”

Could they really do this? Would anyone believe them? Hermione knew it was all destined to go to hell in a handbasket, but if it got her the undersecretary position it would be worth it. She sighed.

“If we’re going to do this, it’s best you start calling me ‘Hermione.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and criticism are always appreciated!!


	2. Chapter 2: November 25th/26th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are they really doing this?

There was never a slow day in the Office of International Magical Cooperation, and that was how Hermione preferred it. She could have delegated some of the work, but she had an unrelenting need to do as much as she could because, “If something goes wrong, it starts and ends with me.” Everyone in the office knew her real motivation for working so hard was that she never wanted to go home. Someone knocked on Hermione’s office door and she sighed heavily before shouting at them to enter.

A French wizard had gone missing in Germany, Sweden and Norway were fighting over Dragon-hunting licenses, and something was happening with the Bulgarian Quidditch team Hermione only half-listened to. With her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, smudged eyeliner, and a spare quill stuck in her bun, Hermione was quite a sight to see. She batted away a flying memo as her secretary came into the office. Hermione continued to scribble notes on various pieces of parchment spread about her desk.

Romilda slid some papers away to create a free space at the corner of Hermione’s desk where she sat down a vase full of white lilies. They both stared at it for a moment before Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I don’t have time to look at the bouquet your newest boyfriend sent you. I’m sure it is every bit as lovely as the last fourteen.” Hermione was appalled by the bitterness in her own voice. She didn’t know where it came from.

“That’s just it … They aren’t for me,” Romilda said.

“Well find out who they—”

“They’re for you.” Romilda interjected. Hermione stared at her secretary for a moment, trying to discern whether this was a prank. The expression of disbelief on Romilda’s face conveyed that she, too, believed it was impossible.

“I thought you might have sent them yourself to get us off your back about it. Penelope mentioned you had a boyfriend but everyone thought you were lying.”

“Your confidence in my romantic life is flattering,” Hermione deadpanned.

“You see those gold leaves in there?” Romilda pointed out the shimmering leaves curling over the edge of the vase.

“That’s niffler’s fancy! This cost more than a few Galleons, Miss Granger. No way would you spend this kind of money on yourself, and then there’s the note which I may have peeked at.”

Hermione grabbed the torn envelope and pulled out a small card.

 

> _Dinner tomorrow?_

He left it unsigned to give Hermione another opportunity to bail. _That was strangely kind of him_ , she thought. The bouquet was lovely, but Draco Malfoy always had a good taste in things, if not so much in people.

“Well, who is it?” Romilda asked, eyes twinkling in anticipation. Hermione grinned.

“I think I’ll keep this secret to myself a bit longer,” Hermione teased.

“Is he handsome?” she pressed.

Hermione tilted in head to one side. She never thought about it, never regarded Draco Malfoy that way. He was tall, pale, and kind of sad-looking. Though, his cheekbones had only sharpened since they were in school. He had those pink pouty lips and ... Hermione wondered why she remembered that, or why she noticed at all. She noticed how Malfoy’s hair fell to the nape of his neck and that he didn’t put as much product in it as he used to. She thought of what it might be like to run her fingers through it, before chalking that up to being desperate for a life outside of work.

“Yeah,” Hermione nodded. “Yeah, I suppose he is rather handsome.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione got home an hour before Malfoy was scheduled to arrive. She’d promised him a fully-prepared meal in exchange for meeting somewhere private. Hermione wanted to discuss whether to go through with this crazy idea. She would need to rush along the hotpot with some magic, but it could work.

Halfway through preparing the meal, Hermione realized she had no idea what to wear. She said more than a few expletives as she stomped into her bedroom and stared into her closet. She wondered what protocol was for a dinner date that wasn’t really a date. She settled on a light grey turtleneck and dark jeans with some heels.

_Casual, not inviting, but I’m also not a nun. I can do this, just don’t overthink it._

_…_

_I am going to mess this up._

Hermione tasted a glazed carrot as someone knocked on her front door, which was strange. She opened it to reveal a pink-cheeked Draco Malfoy holding a bottle of wine. She motioned for him to come inside and said,

“I thought you’d be coming through the Floo,” as she closed the door behind him. Draco unbuttoned his coat and said,

“That would presumptuous of me. Stepping into your home like that?”

Hermione stared at him, knowing there was something she should be doing. He was standing there and there was a next step but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She was missing a piece to the process. Something, something …

“Oh!” she shouted just a little too loudly. “Let me take your coat.”

And that smug bastard had the nerve to laugh as Hermione hung his coat in the coat closet. When she demanded to know why, all he could say was,

“You’re trying.”

Hermione let her shoulders slump and allowed herself to laugh a little, too. She leaned against the wall and said,

“I’m sorry. I haven’t done this in a long time.”

“Me either,” Draco nodded in understanding. He stared at his shoes for a moment before glancing up at Hermione with a shy smile. “What are we doing, anyway?” he asked, brandishing the bottle of wine.

“Food!” she remembered. Hermione shuffled Malfoy toward her dining table, where two plates of hotpot, carrots, and brussels sprouts sat steaming. Draco looked around at Hermione’s flat before sitting down.

“You live here?”

It was obvious he hadn’t meant to offend Hermione, but she was a bit embarrassed. The flat was cozy enough and functional for the eight hours she was there to sleep. (If she was being honest with herself, more like six hours.) The white walls were bare, the furnishings sleek and minimal since they came with the flat. It was polished but, well, bland.

“I suppose ‘live’ is a relative term,” Hermione eventually replied.

“This is delicious, by the way,” Draco said when he was halfway through his hotpot. Hermione popped another carrot into her mouth and smiled as she chewed. The wine he brought was delicious, though Hermione expected nothing less from someone with Galleons to burn.

“You said you don’t enjoy the Christmas holidays,” Malfoy intimated. “Why?”

“You know why,” Hermione quipped. “Everyone knows why.”

Draco narrowed his eyes and placed his wineglass back on the table. He didn’t say anything, just studied Hermione as she pushed the remaining bits of food around on her plate. Malfoy leaned forward as though he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. He seemed content to wait until Hermione provided an actual answer.

“How can you—how can you not know? It was everywhere!”

“When?” Draco asked.

“Christmas 2004,” Hermione replied.

“Ah, yes, I was not paying attention to the news then. I was … indisposed.”

“You were ill?”

“Something like that,” Draco said, cryptically. He appeared lost in a memory for a moment before he shook himself out of it. “Tell me, then, what happened?”

Hermione did not want to relive it, not now. She was almost, not quite, but almost having a good time. It was nice to have dinner with someone who wasn’t shouting at her, or wasn’t a high-ranking diplomat from another country trying to subtly bribe her. (Generally, that ended in shouting as well.) This was much better than her usual takeaway at the Ministry, but he had to ruin it all by asking about Christmas. She sighed heavily and looked at him as she said,

“Ron and I separated on Christmas Eve, 2004.”

“Ah,” Draco muttered. “I am sorry to have dredged that up, then. My apologies.” He lowered his gaze but Hermione shook her head.

“No, no, you know what, don’t be. I’m over it. Suzanne Leconte plays for the French national team and the Holyhead Harpies. Ginny plays for the Holyhead Harpies and well, Ron was there to support her all the time while I was at work. On Christmas Eve we gave each other one present and I opened mine to find a silver charm bracelet. I never wear charm bracelets and it was all Quidditch-themed, and the biggest charm was a diamond-studded silver ‘S’.”

Malfoy’s jaw dropped.

“He got her a present?”

“And mixed them up,” Hermione nodded. “So Christmas always reminds me of that, of how I wasn’t enough.”

Draco chuckled low in his throat and leaned back in his chair.

“I do not believe for a moment that was true. If anything, you were too much.”

“As though that’s any better,” Hermione replied, stabbing her fork a little too forcefully into a carrot. Draco plucked the fork from her hands and placed it on her plate. Hermione made her hands into sweater paws and nervously placed her arms on the table. “What?”

“Yes, it is better. I have learned the value of spending time with your family, the ones you love. I watched my mother crumble when my father was sent to Azkaban. I watched my wi—” Draco’s breath caught in his throat. Hermione could tell there was something there he wasn’t ready to reveal just yet. “If you chose work over spending your time with Weasley, then it’s not because you did anything wrong. It is because he was not enough to make you want to come home.”

Hermione never thought of it like that. She always assumed she was the problem, and that Ron made a bad decision but she'd pushed him into it. Perhaps she and Ron were both wrong, and they tried to make something work which should have ended long before it did.

“I appreciate that. Thank you, that was kind of you to say. It was for the best, really, because we were such different people. I was quashing myself to be happy with him and he noticed. I don’t fault him as much as I used to. So, tell me this, Malfoy, if we go through with this … this …”

“Relationship?” Draco offered.

“Fine then, if we go through with it, what do you want out of it?”

“I want my friends to shut the bloody hell up about my love life for a bit. I want my friends to see that I can move forward, but that I must do it on my own terms.” Draco replied. There was truth to that, but Hermione could tell he was holding something back.

“If we are going to be convincing, I think you need to be completely honest with me. That is the one thing, Merlin knows I need you to be honest. If at any point you don’t want to do this anymore, just tell me and I’ll let you go. I never want to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t want to be there. Not again.”

Draco sighed and let his face fall into his hands. He nodded to himself like he’d made an internal decision.

“I was married.”

“So you said, but you aren’t wearing a ring.”

“I only took it off recently.” Draco held out his left hand like it still looked foreign to him. He then crossed his arms in front of him like he was recalling something unpleasant. “Astoria had a blood disease, the irony of which is not lost on me. She knew she wouldn’t live to be very old, but we were both surprised at what little time she really had.

“After she had our son, she became very weak. I told her she didn’t need to … She didn’t … She died two years ago on Christmas Day,” he finally finished.

Hermione wanted to hug him. She wanted to warm him up, make him laugh, do something to erase the sadness filling in the lines of his face. As badly as Hermione wanted to, she did not believe she had the ability to properly console him. Whatever happened between her and Ron, it was still cordial and he was still there. The heartache cut a hole so deep into her chest she nearly caved in on herself, but each smile and each moment spent moving on filled in that cavern a little bit. Love had been much less forgiving to Draco; Hermione did not know his pain.

“I wish life wasn’t so unfair for you,” was all she could think to say.

“I earned this pain,” Draco admitted. “I hurt people, I tried to kill people, and I watched you get tortured on my fucking floor, Granger. I earned this, but Scorpius didn’t and I am angry for him. My son did nothing wrong, nothing other than being born a Malfoy. He deserves a better family than the one I can give him.

“Scorpius doesn’t understand much, he is only four, but he knows good from bad. As he gets older he will learn what I did during the war, learn that I was a coward and that I was wrong. What do I want from this arrangement? Selfish as it is, I want for my son to see me with someone who has always fought for the right side. I want my son to associate me with someone good.”

That was the most humbling thing anyone had ever said to Hermione Granger. She clutched her chest and looked down at her lap because the loud thump of her heartbeat and the sudden flush in her cheeks was inescapable. Draco was being selfish, which he acknowledged, but perhaps he was entitled to indulge his emotions a bit. They’d both been through too much in life and love, and Hermione figured she would get more out of this than Draco would.

“You aren’t concerned about lying to him?” Hermione asked, delicately.

“We wouldn’t be lying,” Draco insisted. “Contrary to the way you may feel about me, I don’t actually hate you.”

“I don’t hate—“

“You harbor some hatred for me, Granger, do not avoid it. I understand how you must feel, and the intensity of it, after what I did. Or, more accurately, what I didn’t do.” Draco paused for a moment to ensure she understood what he was referring to. Hermione nodded for him to continue. “I like you. Other than the fact that you were Muggle-born, I only hated you because you one-upped me in everything. I am smart, Hermione, but the universe stuck me in the same class as you and there was never any hope for me to get top marks.”

Hermione shrugged and said, “You should’ve studied harder.” Draco laughed and she asked, “What is so funny this time?” but Draco shook his head.

“Nothing, nothing. I like you, and I will pretend to be your boyfriend if you'll have me. A relationship with no expectations? One I don’t have to work at but will satiate my friends for a couple months? Sign me the hell up.”

Hermione extended her hand across the table and said, “Deal.”

Draco stared at her proffered hand with a bemused look on his face.

“You know that to make this even remotely convincing you are going to have to hold my hand.” The corners of his mouth twitched up for the slightest moment as Hermione let her hand fall to the table. She mumbled something unintelligible. “Sorry, what’s that?” Draco asked.

“And other stuff,” she repeated. “Hold your hand and other stuff.”

 _Merlin, I couldn't sound more like an inexperienced teenager if I tried_.

“To be clear,” Draco insisted, “I am never going to do anything you don’t want me to do. This is your show and I am here to help you become Senior Undersecretary. That is our goal.”

“Right,” Hermione agreed. “I am, um, the slightest bit nervous about it. Ron and I split up five years ago and since then I haven’t …” she couldn’t finish. “… At all. I worry that I may have forgotten how to do this properly.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, confused. He stood up from his chair and walked around to Hermione’s side of the table. He offered her his right hand and she accepted it with her left.

“I am beginning to doubt you ever knew at all,” he said as Hermione wrapped her four fingers around his. He held their hands aloft and asked, “Is this how you and Weasley held hands? The two of you were doomed from the start.”

“I don’t need you to remind me,” Hermione said darkly. Draco’s expression softened.

“That was insensitive, I apologize.”

“You can stop apologizing,” Hermione insisted.

“I won’t,” Draco replied almost instantly, and with such conviction Hermione stood up from her chair to give herself something to do as she processed that statement.

Hermione stared at him intently, trying to figure out what was different about this version of Draco Malfoy. He was older and wizened, but they all were. His malice had been replaced by contrition. Hermione felt that Draco meant what he said, and she appreciated his earnest sincerity. There really was just an overwhelming sadness about him she never wanted to fully understand. A sadness she wanted to eliminate.

_He loved his wife._

Maybe love really had changed Draco Malfoy for the better, even if it broke his heart into tiny fragments. He was still in the process of picking up those fragile shards, and in making this arrangement Hermione saw that he trusted her to not damage him any further.

“You trust me, I trust you,” Hermione said.

“You will be the best damn Senior Undersecretary the Ministry ever had,” Draco insisted. Hermione tilted her head to one side and laughed.

“That’s a low bar.”

“Everything is a low bar for you,” he retorted. Before Hermione could tell him that flattery would get him nowhere, Draco fanned out his fingers and twined them between Hermione’s. She squeezed his hand as though she was trying it out for the first time.

Draco raised their intertwined hands to Hermione’s eye level and said, “This is how you hold hands.” Hermione's breath hitched and she wondered if it was simply because it'd been years since anyone touched her like this. Then again, it'd been years since she'd wanted anyone to touch her like this. She bit her lip, wondering whether it just happened to be Draco, or if it was thrilling because it was him. The darkest part of her heart desperately longed to see the look on Ron's face when he saw her on the arm of his childhood nemesis. How satisfying would it be to prove to him, to prove to everyone, that she could move on? 

“You know you will have to come to an office party, the retreat, and all that nonsense,” Hermione said. Draco nodded. “Would you care for a trial run?” she teased.

“I’m listening.”

“Dinner is December 5th, next Saturday. I think, maybe, we should start to hint that we may be … together, so it’s not like I picked you up off the street.”

“No, you just picked me up in a tea shoppe.”

Hermione whacked him playfully and said, “You know what I mean.”

“I like it, I agree. It sounds like you have an idea.”

“You should pick me up for lunch tomorrow.”

Draco smiled, elated. “This will be so much fun,” he said.

“I have a list of places—“ Hermione attempted to grab something from the countertop but was drawn back by her own hand, still wrapped through Draco’s. He chuckled and said,

“I know just the place.”

Draco disentangled their hands and pressed a light kiss to the back of Hermione’s. She felt herself go pink as he said,

“Wear something pretty. Be seeing you, Hermione.” Then he grabbed his coat from the closet and walked out her front door.

Hermione Granger had a date.

What did he mean, “Wear something pretty?” Was the frumpy turtleneck look a turn-off? Hermione imagined it must be, as he was always impeccably dressed. That’s fine, she was always one to rise to a challenge.

Hermione Granger had a date with Draco Malfoy.

Loathe as she was to admit it, she was looking forward to it. Even more, she anxiously anticipated the reaction of her office staff. They were a tightly-knit bunch, and nothing hits the tabloids faster than office gossip. Yes, tomorrow would be very fun.


	3. Chapter 3: November 26th/27th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first date.

_This used to be simpler._

Hermione stared at her closet, completely lost. She was not wanting for clothes or robes. In fact, her wardrobe was always the largest, most tedious thing to move. Somewhere in that closet was the perfect outfit, Hermine just couldn’t find it.

“This is a terrible idea,” Ginny said, peering into Hermione’s closet. “You should tell the committee this is a bunch of Dragon dung and they can stuff their opinions up their—”

“To lose out on the undersecretary position but get fired while I’m at it? No, this has to work.”

“Malfoy, Hermione? Really?” Ginny insisted. “He’s good-looking now, sure, but it’s Draco Malfoy!”

“What did he mean by ‘pretty’?” Hermine asked, changing the subject.

“Not trousers,” Ginny retorted.

Hermione liked trousers, though. They were easier to move in and it was better for curling up in her desk chair after hours. At ten o’clock in the evening she wanted to be comfortable, so what was wrong with trousers? Besides, “not trousers” was just as vague as “pretty.”

“I don’t remember this being so difficult,” Hermione said as Ginny rummaged through her closet.

“That’s because you dated then married my brother, who was so in love with you that you could’ve worn a potato sack and he still would’ve wanted to show you off.”

Hermione shifted awkwardly.

“Being with Ron was easy until it wasn’t.”

“Hey,” Ginny paused her search to look back at Hermione. “That doesn’t mean what he did wasn’t wrong, and I’m glad we’re still friends. If this is what you need to get what you deserve, then I’ll help you, you know that. I’m happy you trust me enough to let me in on this shitty idea. But it’s Malfoy! He’s hardly ever even in the papers anymore, he’s such a … an, uh … I don’t know. He doesn’t get out all that much.”

She paused for a moment.

“On second thought, maybe you two are a good match after all,” she teased. Hermione laughed.

“I think it might be fun, actually. He’s different now, kind of sad. Did you know his wife died?”

Ginny threw some options onto Hermione’s bed.

“Yes, but not much about it. The Malfoys kept it pretty well under wraps. It’s just his mum, though, now.”

“And his son,” Hermione added. Ginny’s head snapped up.

“He has a kid?”

 _Uh-oh._ Perhaps that wasn’t something Hermione was meant to tell other people.

“Yeah, he does. It’s kind of sweet, he cares what his son thinks of him. He’s remorseful and he apologizes for everything, but he’s still himself. He’s quick-witted and unbelievably wealthy, Ginny. The wine we had for dinner?” Hermine moaned low in her throat. “So good.”

Ginny picked at some lint on one of Hermione’s blouses.

“You deserve a real relationship, Hermione. I don’t want you to get too deep into this and fall for him, only for him to leave after the undersecretary is chosen. Even the way you talk about him now is a little weird. I know you’re desperate to feel like this again, but this isn’t real.”

Hermione took some time to stare at the floor before she answered.

“I know it’s not, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be fun.”

Ginny asked where they were going, and Hermione admitted she had no idea. Ginny shrugged and started to put outfits together. Hermione nixed the red and white combination because she didn’t “want to look like a candy cane.”

“Well, it’s just lunch, I suppose. Nothing too fancy, but …?”

Hermione stared warily at the outfit Ginny selected.

“Now, that’s pretty.”

**.oOo.**

When Hermione pulled on her sweater the next morning, she felt a sudden urge to call it off. There was a nervous knot in her stomach and not because of the reaction she’d get from _Witch Weekly_ once word of their relationship leaked out. No, Hermione was nervous about her date. Then again, it wasn’t a real date, so why was she afraid of messing it up?

As she pulled on a pleated skirt, Hermione realized she wanted Draco to like her. She wanted someone to come into her life and choose to stay not because she was Hermione Granger, but because they liked the idea of being part of her life. Maybe that was Draco, maybe it wasn’t, but either way it would be good practice for when she started to “have a life” again.

She surveyed herself in the mirror and, honestly? She looked good. A cream-coloured sweater paired with a green skirt was office-appropriate but only just. The skirt’s hem fell right above her knees while the V of her sweater’s neck dipped at the perfect point to, as Ginny said, “leave him wanting.” Hermione’s black heels were just low enough so she wouldn’t topple over after a couple steps. She spun in front of the mirror as she pulled her hair back. She felt great, actually. No, wait …

She felt pretty.

Hermione walked into the Office of International Magical Cooperation and told her secretary she was expecting someone for lunch. Romilda Vane, never much of a morning person, mumbled, a “Morning, Miss Granger.” She yawned, but then her jaw dropped when she glanced upward.

“Holy hell, Hermione! You have a waist!”

Hermione flushed, embarrassed, and held her coat in front of her to block Romilda’s view.

“Do you have a date?” Romilda’s eyes were sparkling.

“Yeah, I—”

“Granger has a date!” Romilda shouted so the entire office could hear. Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled as heads popped over cubicle walls to ensure they heard correctly. Trisha Buttermere and Bastien Queensbury peeked out of their office doors and smiled at her in disbelief. Some of them started clapping and cheering, which was weird, yet she’d never felt so supported by her staff.

Hermione motioned for them all to calm down, still unable to conceal her smile.

“Yes, yes, I have a date. Now, from noon until two I will be out. I don’t care if the French Minister for Magic is trampled by a herd of angry House-elves, leave me the hell alone from noon until two.”

“You go, Granger!” Wayne Bostock shouted from his cubicle. Hermione smiled and reminded Romilda,

“No meetings or anything, I mean it.”

“Of course, of course, anything you need.” Romilda winked. “Anything.”

That’s when Hermione bolted into her office. As though the universe was conspiring against her, there was almost nothing to do. She caught up on backlogged work, which only took half an hour. By the time eleven rolled around Hermione had nothing to do but sit and wait, which gave her anxiety time to fester.

_What if he doesn’t show?_

_What if everyone hates him?_

_What if I didn’t wear the right clothes?_

That self-doubt swarmed around her head for an hour, so Hermione busied herself writing memos. She usually delegated that to Romilda, but she needed something to do. Being idle was never an option. Hermione had no idea what time it was when she heard Romilda ask someone,

“What are you doing here?”

Romilda’s desk was perpendicular to Hermione’s office so no one could get in without her permission. Hermione’s secretary might have been a little on the promiscuous side, but she was the best damn gatekeeper in the whole Ministry building. She kept quiet when she needed to, and Hermione belatedly realized she should have warned Romilda who was coming.

“I have an appointment with Ms. Granger.” She heard Draco’s almost too-casual voice through her door.

“You don’t,” Romilda dismissed him. “No one has an appointment with Ms. Granger, as she will be out for lunch momentarily.”

Draco laughed.

“I know, and as I said, I have an appointment with Ms. Granger.”

Romilda rose from her chair and insisted,

“No, Lord Malfoy, you don’t.”

_He is a Lord, isn’t he? I’d forgotten._

Bastien Queensbury had made some inane excuse to check on someone in the cubicles and eyed Draco suspiciously. Some of the lower-level staff stared openly at Draco, wondering what the hell he was doing to crash Hermione’s date.

Before Draco could reply, he caught sight of Hermione at her desk and a smile snuck its way onto his face. Romilda glanced from Draco to Hermione and then back to Draco like she was trying to figure out a complex Arithmancy problem. Then her eyes widened and a smile stretched across her face.

 “No fucking way!” she squealed. “No way, no way, no way!”

Draco made his way around Romilda’s desk and entered Hermione’s office. Only then did she remember to stand. Draco stopped halfway through her doorway and eyed her up-and-down. Hermione shrank beneath his gaze, even more self-conscious than she was five minutes earlier.

“Bloody hell, Granger, you look gorgeous.”

Before she could feel good about that compliment she remembered, _He’s just saying that because everyone else is listening in. Just to be convincing._

“Tha-thank you,” Hermione was impressed she could get two words out, the way he was looking at her just then. Those grey eyes lingered on Hermione’s chest for a moment too long, and she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had turned that gaze on her.

She could see Romilda over his shoulder, half-shocked and half-overjoyed.

“You know that, right? You look lovely, Hermione.”

_Hermione._

She almost believed him, but Ginny’s words kept running through her head.

_This isn’t real._

Draco walked over to her and kissed her cheek. He whispered,

“I’m going to put my arm around your shoulders when we walk out, if that’s alright with you.”

Hermione nodded and grabbed her coat. Draco did as he said he would and wrapped his arm around her shoulders when they walked out of her office. The staff stared openly, at that point, subtlety be damned. As she walked by, Hermione told her secretary,

“No interruptions.”

“No interruptions,” Romilda agreed.

Draco’s arm slid across her back as they waited for the lift, a move which elicited more than a couple gasps, and he went to grab her hand. Hermione wrapped all four fingers around his and Draco cleared his throat.

“Oh, right,” Hermione whispered. She twined their fingers together.

“Are you certain this is okay?” Draco asked, concerned.

“Yeah, I am. I just … Are they still looking?” Hermione asked. Draco turned around and Hermione hung her head. “I want to thank you for the really subtle way you did that just now,” she said facetiously.

“Let’s just say I think a trial run was a brilliant idea and leave it at that,” Draco replied bashfully.

Once they were in the lift, Hermione leaned against the back wall. She was about to ask where they were headed when the doors clattered open one floor down and several wizards stepped in. Each one nodded to Hermione in greeting, the same to Draco, and then turned around. When the doors opened on the next floor, one of them turned around and stared at their interlocked fingers. His eyes widened in surprise and the corner of Draco’s mouth twitched upward.

“No going back now, Granger,” Draco whispered.

Hermione’s heart raced as they walked hand-in-hand through the Ministry atrium. Funnily enough, almost no one noticed them. A few people turned their heads, but mostly everyone busied themselves heading to Ministry Munchies or running away from unwanted memos. Once they were back on street-level, Draco tugged Hermione into his chest and said,

“Apologies, but it’s a long Apparition and I don’t splinch on the first date.”

Hermione chuckled and pressed her face into Draco’s shoulder.

_He made a joke._

_He’s flirting with me._

Hermione clung to Draco once the familiar feeling of being squeezed through a toothpaste tube kicked in. She heard soft music when her feet hit solid ground again, and she tried to feel each of her body parts to ensure they were still intact. Draco was nearly a full head taller than Hermione, his chin was perched atop her head as she dug her fingers into the back of his coat. When Draco released her, Hermione quashed a momentary feeling of emptiness.

They were inside the poshest restaurant Hermione had ever seen. It was all light wood, pale blue trimmings, and sleek grey accents. It was bright and airy, a perfect place for lunch. One glance at the other patrons and Hermione thanked Merlin she asked Ginny for help with her outfit. The trousers would not have cut it at this place.

“May I take your coat?” A host asked, seemingly from nowhere. Hermione turned and shrugged out of her coat before handing it to the host, who was dressed entirely in black. Draco handed off his coat and Hermione balked. He was effortlessly gorgeous in a red sweater she didn’t need to touch to know it was cashmere. He was slim and tall, and Hermione spent more than a couple seconds ogling him. He didn’t look out of place at all, whereas Hermione never even considered coming to such a place for a casual lunch. Thankfully, Draco didn’t notice her staring as he caught the attention of the head waiter.

“Ah, Lord Malfoy, we’re expecting you.”

Draco nodded curtly and another host in black led them to a table set for two in a secluded corner. Draco brushed the host aside to pull out Hermione’s chair, for which she was very grateful. She was so nervous her legs had started to wobble and, considering her heels, that was a problem waiting to happen.

Hermione glanced over the menu before holding it up for Draco to see.

“It’s in Italian.”

“It is,” Draco agreed.

“I don’t speak Italian.”

“Tell me what you like, then,” Draco insisted.

“What I’d like is a menu in English. We are still in England, aren’t we? You haven’t actually taken me to Italy, have you?”

Draco looked sheepishly down at his hands, then folded in his lap.

“I thought about it, but that would not serve our purpose. We want to be seen by the right people, and only the right people. No one here will talk unless I ask them to.”

“Why’s that?” Hermione asked, intrigued.

“I know the owner,” Draco shrugged. “I'll have someone leak it to _Witch Weekly_ that they saw us here together. Now, tell me again, what is it that you like to eat? No alcohol for you, obviously, since you will want to return to work after this, but that won’t stop me from having a bit of fun.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed.

“You want to order for me?”

“Only if you are comfortable with that,” Draco insisted. “I never want to overstep whatever this is. I’m not quite sure where the line is with you, so you need to let me know if I find it, alright?”

“Look, Draco,” Hermione’s annoyance was clear in her tone. “You don’t need to treat me like I’m fragile. I know what this is, but we have to be convincing and I can’t do that if you’re always apologizing or acting weird. If you want to be presumptuous, that’s fine. I’ll let you know when you step out of line and if you listen to me when I do, then we won’t have a problem.”

“I don’t believe you are fragile, Hermione. If you remember correctly, my face was once on the receiving end of your fist.” Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Draco cut her off.

“I only want to get to know you and what you’re comfortable with. We have at least six more weeks, let’s try not to make them too painful. Yes, I will ask if it’s okay to have my arm around your shoulders and eventually I’ll ask to kiss you. I want to know what you think dating is like so I can help you figure out how it is supposed to be. I want to make it good for you.”

 _I’m sure you could,_ Hermione thought. Then, _Whoa, where the hell did that come from?_ She realized her reaction to his tenderness was unfair, because he was trying. Hermione just hated the idea of being treated like glass. She was a woman forged in the fire of war, and Draco Malfoy had best not forget it.

“Breakfast food,” Hermione admitted. “You want to know what I like? I arrive to work at ten and leave at midnight most nights. I never have breakfast, but I love breakfast food.”

Draco called the waiter over and ordered what sounded like fifteen things off the menu.

“Did you just order the whole kitchen?” Hermione joked. Draco only smiled in response, which made Hermione think he might have ordered one of everything on the menu.

“Tell me about your son,” Hermione insisted.

Draco Malfoy’s face brightened like he just downed a bottle of Felix Felicis.

“Scorpius? He turned four this October and I didn’t believe anything could be worse than age three, but sometimes that little boy is absolute hell on my nerves.” Draco pushed his hair back as he continued. “He is an introvert; sometimes he does not want to be around people. We have well over one-hundred rooms in the manor, so you can imagine when he gets into one of those moods how bloody long it takes to find him.

“Once, he went missing for more than nine hours. We found him just before dawn, asleep in a cauldron in a closet.”

Hermione laughed.

“He sounds like a handful.”

“Oh, Merlin, you would love him, though,” Draco said, getting lost in his mind for a moment. “You really would.”

“Why’s that?”

“My son, Granger, is a fucking nerd.”

And Hermione laughed even harder and had to take a sip of her water to soothe her throat.

“I am serious!” Draco chuckled. “The day I rescued you from those carol singers, I was only in Diagon Alley to buy him a copy of _Tales of Beedle the Bard_. He loves books so much we ran out of picture books in the library. Then we had to reorganize the shelves after he grabbed one that nearly bit his hand off.”

“He sounds like a joy,” Hermione admitted.

“He is,” Draco said, his face flushed with pride. “Tell me then, why are you so convinced the Senior Undersecretary position will get you elected Minister?”

“It won’t,” Hermione said. “I just want to prove I can work at the highest levels of government. Once I prove to everyone that I can work at that level, I will leave until Minister Shacklebolt retires. I’ll do something more productive in the meantime, like become an advocate for St. Mungo’s or lead the charge to abolish the Christmas holiday altogether,” she joked.

“Why do you hate Christmas so much?” Draco asked. Hermione’s face fell. “I know your divorce must have been dreadful, but you aren’t just sad. You’re bitter,” he observed.

_Talk about hitting the nail on the head._

Their food arrived to spare Hermione from answering, and it looked delicious. She dug right into some sort of Italian-inspired French toast that was coated in preserves and had baked apple slices on top. After one bite of the croissant, Hermione made a noise that caused Draco’s pupils to dilate and he shifted awkwardly in his chair. She didn’t notice, of course, because the croissant was so delicious.

“This croissant is fucking delicious,” she confirmed aloud. Draco laughed.

“I hope so, because if that’s how you react to mediocre food, I’d be curious to know what happens with food you enjoy.”

“Omelets really get me going,” Hermione quipped in reply. Draco’s smile turned devious in an instant.

“Ask and ye shall receive, Hermione Granger,” he said as a waiter brought over several more plates of food. “Round two,” Draco announced.

He had, in fact, ordered the gamut of breakfast food. Draco ate some flaky delicious-looking thing Hermione couldn’t pronounce, complemented by an orange drink of the same variety.

Hermione bit into the omelet and chewed ever so slowly. Her eyes fluttered closed and she swallowed before saying, “That was so good. So good,” she whispered to herself. Her impulse control was shot to hell, she cleared the plate and downed half a bowl of oatmeal.

“What do you do for fun?” Hermione asked, trying to busy herself and avoid the remaining food.

“Fun?” Draco asked like the word was foreign to him. “I have a four-year-old child, Hermione. Fun does not factor into a lot of my time.”

“Shouldn’t it, though? Shouldn’t you make time for yourself?”

“Look who’s talking,” Draco retorted. Hermione nodded.

“That’s fair. I only ask because I have an idea for our second date.”

“Then I have an idea for our third.”

“Great, but I’m not sure you will enjoy what I have planned. It’s kind of … lame.”

“With you, Granger? I doubt it,” Draco replied. The waiter came by several minutes later to ask if they were interested in trying some dessert. Hermione leaned back in her chair and said,

“No way. No way do I have room for dessert after all that food.”

“We’ll take some lemon drizzle cake,” Draco said. Hermione groaned.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“I’m trying to make you happy,” Draco said. Hermione opened her eyes and tilted her head. “Is it working?”

“You know what, it just might be,” Hermione replied.

After two slices of lemon cake (which tasted like it was made with nectar from the gods), Hermione stood up to leave. Draco threw several Galleons on the table before taking her hand and walking her to the front of the restaurant to retrieve their coats.

Draco wrapped one arm around Hermione’s waist.

“Where am I meeting you for our second date?”

“Sunday at my flat. Whenever you want, just before dark.”

“Sunday afternoon? Perfect.”

Draco pressed a kiss to her cheek and said, “Be seeing you, Hermione.”

**.oOo.**

When Hermione returned to the Ministry, everyone was working. Her staff spared her no looks, as though they’d been warned off. Knowing her secretary, perhaps they had been.

“Hermione,” Romilda said, inviting herself into Hermione’s office. “I just want you to know the entire office is behind you in this.”

“Thanks,” Hermione muttered.

“I’m serious,” Romilda insisted. “If you need anything, we’re here for you. We work for you because you’re the best and we don’t want to see you compromised. But you know what?”

“What?” Hermione asked.

“We want to see you happy. And you look happy, you really do. Don’t think I didn’t notice your sexy outfit today included some Slytherin green, Ms. Granger. I can take a hint,” she winked. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“We’re not that serious, Romilda. I know I told Penelope we would move in together, but that was a lie.” _The whole thing is a lie_. “We’re nowhere near anything like that.”

“Well, you should be. Forgive me, I know I’m just your secretary, but Malfoy looks at you like you are a second chance he never believed he could have … And I’ve only seen him with you once. I’m sorry we thought you were lying, but in my wildest dreams I never would’ve thought—”

“That’s enough,” Hermione cut her off brusquely.

“Yeah, I think it is,” Romilda said. What she meant by it, though, Hermione couldn’t tell. She sighed heavily once Romilda closed the door.

_He’s my friend. It’s just a means to an end._

_It isn’t real._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and criticism are always appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4: November 29th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I probably should’ve mentioned earlier: this story takes place in 2009.

The rumour hit _Witch Weekly_ on Saturday. It was only a small rectangle on the bottom of the cover; separate photos of the two of them with the caption, “Enemies Turned Lovers?” Hermione had flipped through the copy while in line for Ministry Munchies and had to suppress a laugh.

_Lovers? Really?_

“Two Ministry sources and several patrons at a London restaurant confirm Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were seen together on Friday, November 27th. They were spotted holding hands and lovingly gazing at each other over omelets. Lord Malfoy declined our inquiry and Hermione Granger could not be reached for comment.”

_Lovingly gazing at each other over omelets? Draco didn’t even have an omelet!_

It was buried in the magazine under a slew of other rumoured couples and candids. (Par for the course when there were no photos to go along with a story.) Hermione wondered if people would believe their relationship if they couldn’t see it. Would they need to make more public appearances?

Hermione’s flat was in Queen’s Park, and she chose it for the seclusion. There was a lovely patio and a long, spacious backyard separated from the neighbors by a high wooden fence. A large tree dominated the space, nearly as tall as the fence itself, and Hermione felt very safe from view. Privacy was priority number one.

Sundays were Hermione’s only off-day. The sun would set in a couple hours, so she hoped Draco would arrive soon. She peeked into the cage of fairies then heard a knock at her front door.

“You’re supposed to be my boyfriend, I told you to use the Fl—”

Hermione stopped herself because it wasn’t Draco Malfoy on her doorstep.

It was Harry Potter holding his own copy of _Witch Weekly._ Hermione chuckled nervously; she wasn’t prepared to lie to Harry’s face just yet.

“I, uh, didn’t know you read that tabloid garbage,” she said awkwardly. Harry looked at her with open skepticism and Hermione heard a loud pop from across the street. Harry started to turn around but Hermione stopped him.

“You know why I’m here, Hermione.” he said. “Is it true?”

Draco had Apparated onto the street behind Harry. Hermione pulled Harry into a tight hug and, over his shoulder, drew her hand across her neck in the universal sign for, “ABORT! ABORT!” Draco caught sight of her, and Hermione’s heart fell to her stomach because instead of walking away he came closer. Draco had that devious smile on his face, and no good could come of it. Hermione released Harry and rambled,

“You look great, Harry. How’s Ginny? I saw her a few days ago and she seemed great. Is she still great? I’m sure she’s great.”

“Hermione,” Harry said, brow furrowed. “Are you okay? D’you need—”

“Potter!” Draco shouted. Hermione’s face crumpled and Harry’s eyes widened. She let her face fall into her hands.

“This cannot be happening to me right now,” she insisted. Harry’s face went red as Draco stepped around him and pressed a kiss to Hermione’s cheek.

“You didn’t tell me to expect visitors, Granger,” Draco teased.

“I didn’t tell her I was coming. I was … I was …” Harry seemed to be at a loss for words. So was Hermione. Draco looked between the two of them and rolled his eyes.

“Hell, Potter, pull yourself together. You look like you just saw a Fire Crab fucking a Manticore.”

“I … I’m just surprised, is all,” Harry said. “I didn’t think after Ron that you’d—”

“Hey!” Hermione insisted rather petulantly. “This has nothing to do with Ronald. I want to make sure you know that, but you can’t tell him, not yet. We’re still …” she looked at Draco for assistance finding the word.

“Hermione, I think it’s best you go inside. You shouldn’t be out here without a coat,” Draco changed the subject, sounding legitimately concerned. Hermione huffed.

“I’ll see you Saturday, Harry,” she said as she spun on her heel and stomped back inside the flat.

_This is not how I wanted to start this date._

Draco and Harry spoke outside for several minutes, which Hermione found annoying on a number of levels. There was only so much daylight left! Harry Disapparated as Draco finally stepped into Hermione’s flat.

“You didn’t need to defend this,” Hermione gestured between the two of them, “to him.”

“I did,” Draco insisted. “He was very helpful early on after Astoria died. I needed loads of assistance dealing with the estate, with Scorpius, with all kinds of shit I never knew about. Potter put me in touch with the right people, and I am forever grateful to him for showing me that kindness.

“He is concerned I am using you as a sort of, I believe his phrase was ‘emotional rebound.’”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione dismissed.

“No, Granger, it isn’t.” Draco placed a plain white box on her countertop as Hermione grabbed her coat. She refused to look at him as he continued. “Given that this relationship isn’t even real, I think it is wrong of you to invalidate his concern like that.”

“I don’t like that you felt like you had to exclude me,” Hermione admitted.

“Would you have been comfortable standing there and pretending to be my girlfriend? We’ve done this in front of your office and the Ministry staff and restaurant goers, not your best friend. I did not want you to bear that burden yet.”

_That is sort of considerate._

“Thank you,” Hermione nodded. She picked up the cage of fairies. “I suppose we’ll have to pick up the pace since the two of you spent so much time gossiping.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He followed Hermione out the back door and into the yard. She sat the cage on the ground and stared at it intently. She shuffled awkwardly, shifting her balance from foot-to-foot as she said,

“I know it may be kind of lame, but I thought maybe we could decorate my tree?”

To her surprise, Draco smiled.

“It sounds wonderful.”

Hermione enthusiastically launched into an explanation of how it would work. She directed Draco to take a fairy from the cage and cup his hands around it. She muttered, _Bullios!_ , and a bubble burst from the end of her wand. She levitated it closer to Draco and said,

“Okay, now release the fairy into the bubble.”

“You want me to throw the fairy into the bubble?” he confirmed. Hermione shook her head.

“No, I want you to release it so I can catch it in the bubble.”

“Ah,” Draco said. He released the small red fairy into the air toward Hermione’s levitating orb. She guided it as the fairy flitted to and fro, eventually getting the creature to fly directly into the bubble. The orb, which had previously been colourless, pulsed with a bright red light.

Draco stared as Hermione levitated it up to one of the highest points of the tree and let it hang there like an ornament. _One down, forty-nine to go!_ Draco stared, open-mouthed.

“That is fucking amazing. God, you are so brilliant, Hermione. I never would’ve thought to make my own fairy lights.” She blushed and Draco exclaimed, “My turn! Grab a green one, please. What was the spell you used?” he asked as he pulled out his wand.

“Bullios,” Hermione repeated, unable to hide the smile in her voice. She plucked a green fairy from the cage and cupped it between her hands. “You ready?”

It took Draco a couple attempts to produce a bubble, but he eventually formed one and said, “Alright, Granger! Release the beast!” Hermione laughed and directed the fairy toward the bubble.

The green fairy was quick! It flitted away from the orb before Draco could levitate it to her height. She flew higher and higher, and Draco ran closer to the tree to keep up with her. It was quite the sight: Draco Malfoy, in his coat which probably cost a couple thousand Galleons, running after a tiny fairy and a bubble. With his wand raised and hair starting to fall across his forehead, he appeared to be having fun.

_I like that look on him._

When Draco finally caught the fairy in the bubble, he raised two fists in the air.

“Victory!” he shouted. Hermione laughed again. She hadn’t laughed this much in ages.

“If you take that long with all your half, we’ll be here until Tuesday!” she joked.

“My kid would love this,” Draco said, offhand. Hermione didn’t think Draco realized she heard him. He levitated his fairy light onto one of the lower branches, resulting in a very satisfied smile. Draco grabbed a green fairy from the cage and asked if Hermione was ready.

“ _Bullios!”_

And so it went for the next ninety minutes. By the time they finished thirty, they had become quite the team. Draco released a couple in the opposite direction, just to give Hermione fits and watch her run around the yard. Hermione hexed Draco’s shoelaces together when he wasn’t looking, so he tripped and fell face-first onto the grass. Hermione doubled-over in laughter and even Draco was able to smile at the absurdity.

The sun had nearly set when Draco placed the final fairy ornament. They stood on the patio to survey their handiwork, as alternating rows of red and green fairy lights lit the tree. It was the most festive Hermione had been since … Since …

_Since I was seventeen._

“It’s missing something,” Hermione muttered. It was Draco’s turn to be embarrassed.

“Funny you mention that.” Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets and refused to meet Hermione’s gaze. “I was raised to always bring a gift when someone invites me into their home. I don’t want you thinking I’ve forgotten.

“We do not decorate trees in the manor anymore. The House-elves do, of course, but we do not have a family tree. That tradition …” The phrase “died out” was almost too poignant. “… Suffice it to say, we no longer decorate a tree. However, I did not see a tree when I was here last and figured you might want to get one. You beat me to it, but I did bring something …”

Draco went inside to retrieve the box he brought with him. He returned and handed it to Hermione. As she opened it he said,

“This has been in the family for awhile, and I haven’t had the heart to dig it out since Astoria died. I placed it in the box and left it there, but I think perhaps you could make some use of it.”

Hermione lifted the lid to find a star-shaped tree-topper. It was made of thick silver wire, but when she rotated it she noticed each point was tipped with a silver gemstone.

“Phoenix flint,” Draco confirmed.

_Merlin’s beard, this is … sentimental. It’s kind of perfect. There’s no one I’d rather be decorating my tree with than Draco Malfoy, how odd is that? Two weeks ago I hated tree decorating and thought I hated Draco Malfoy. I haven’t had this much fun in ages and now …_

“I appreciate this,” Hermione said as she held the tree-topper in her open palm. “More than you know,” she insisted. When she offered it to Draco he insisted she do the honours.

 _“Engorgio!”_ Hermione enlarged the topper so it would fit nicely on the topmost tree branch. She levitated it higher and higher until she narrowly missed the target. Both she and Draco tilted their heads to the right, trying to almost telepathically guide the star into position. Once it fell into place, Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

They took a couple steps back to admire their handiwork. Red and green bursts of light danced off the gemstone ends of the tree-topper. The lights pulsed asymmetrically, making it look almost like they were jumping from one place to the next.

Draco wrapped his arm around Hermione’s shoulders and she leaned into his side. They spent a few minutes standing like that, watching the lights move on the tree. Draco smelled like roses and something oaky or smokey … Everything about him was masculine and elegant.

_I chose the perfect partner for this._

The sadness Hermione saw in Draco at the tea shoppe was gone as the red and green lights bounced off his face. Her heart fluttered at the thought she had anything to do with its disappearance. Hermione pressed her face further into Draco’s side and said,

“You smell so good. Are all your jumpers this soft? I want to steal them, they’re so cozy.”

“I think I’ll wear button-downs for the next few dates, then,” Draco teased. “Else I’ll think you only want me for my jumpers.”

“It’s always been your jumpers,” Hermione joked.

**.oOo.**

If last Christmas someone told Hermione she would end up sipping hot cocoa next to Draco Malfoy on her couch, she would have laughed them out of the country. The two of them had devolved into another one of their awkward silences, choosing simply to watch the tree lights through the window. Hermione leaned her head on Draco’s shoulder. (She told herself it was because he smelled really good.)

“You never told me why you are so bitter about Christmas,” Draco observed. Hermione groaned.

“Because it’s terrible,” she insisted. “It’s a reminder of everything I don’t have.”

“I don’t understand.”

Hermione sighed deeply. She pulled her knees into her chest and snuggled into Draco’s side, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pull her close.

“I have three Christmas ghosts. You know the third already, of course. When I was eighteen, Ron had just left us in the forest. Harry visited Godric's Hollow for the first time since his parents died and we ended up being viciously attacked by a snake. Not to mention that Harry lost his wand and I ended up wearing the Horcrux for ages afterward.”

“I am sorry that happened to you,” Draco said. “I am sorry for the role my parents played, and for fighting on the wrong side.”

“I accept your apology,” she said.

“What’s the second, then?”

“Hmm?”

“Your second ghost. You said there were three.”

“Ah. Well, that’s a bit more … complicated. It’s complicated.”

“I have time,” Draco said. “I am free for the night.”

“Who watches your son when you are away?” Hermione dodged.

“Mostly my friends, but tonight my mother agreed to watch him. I’ve no doubt that he is being showered in sweets and praise. Do not think I overlooked your attempt to change the subject, Granger.”

“I don’t like talking about it because I feel like I did something wrong,” Hermione said. “My parents don’t speak to me anymore. I know I did the best I could, but it doesn’t change how they feel.

“Christmas is about family and friends and camaraderie. I don’t really have much of that. I avoid Christmas with Harry and Ginny because Ron is there. And I don't have my parents anymore because I modified their memories and sent them to live in Australia once Voldemort started hunting Muggle-borns. I took away their free will, Draco, and I am sorry I had to do it, but it was the only way I knew to protect them! If it came down to my parents or Harry, I would’ve chosen Harry and that would have killed me.” Draco grabbed her hand and rubbed circles into her palm.

“I was eighteen! I didn’t know what else to do. When I undid the charm, they were furious. They’d lost their dental practice, of course, and said I ruined their lives. They said I wasn’t the daughter they raised, when all I wanted was to protect them and if they hadn’t been so stubborn about leaving in the first place …”

Hermione couldn’t tell when she started crying, exactly. Draco wiped away a tear with his thumb.

“You do not deserve to feel like this,” he insisted. Hermione shrugged.

“Christmas is the worst time because I think back on all our holiday traditions. I remember my mum singing ‘Jingle Bells’ off-key and my father spending too much time putting holiday lights up on the roof. I miss our Christmas dinners and making snowmen. I miss it all, and that’s why I am bitter about Christmas.”

“I miss my old Christmases, as well,” Draco admitted. “Perhaps we will figure out a way to enjoy Christmas together.”

“I’d like that.”

They settled into a more amicable silence. Draco asked how long the fairies would remain trapped in the bubbles and Hermione confirmed it would only be a few days.

_They should count their lucky stars. I’ve trapped bugs a hell of a lot longer than that._

“I have a request of you,” Draco said. “You are in no way obliged to attend, but one of my friends is hosting a dinner party on Wednesday. I feel we should attempt to convince my friends first, as I imagine yours will be a bit more difficult.”

“Who will be there?” Hermione asked hesitantly.

“Blaise is hosting, obviously.”

“Obviously?”

“He is a fantastic cook. He owns the restaurant I took you to on Friday, along with several others throughout Europe. He throws the best parties, Granger. The food is heavenly.”

_After what I tasted on Friday, I have no doubt._

“Pans, Theo, and Zoe Accrington will be there, along with their spouses. I say spouses, Blaise isn’t technically married but might as well be.”

“And you are tired of being the odd one out?” Hermione guessed.

“No, not particularly. I just don’t like the looks they give the extra seat at the table. I don’t like that they look at me with pity.”

“I’ll go,” Hermione agreed. She sniffed and wiped her nose with the end of her sweater sleeve. “Do you mind if I ask you something, though?”

“Go right ahead.”

“What the hell am I supposed to wear?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's ... so ... FLUFFY!! What's cheesier than fake dating? Fake dating *with fairy lights!*


	5. Chapter 5: November 30th, December 1st/2nd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crisis management, crisis management Malfoy-style, and a dinner party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My only beta is Spellcheck, so please forgive any spelling or grammar errors.

The International Floo Network went down on Monday. Hermione was summoned at six o’clock, and she immediately started negotiating emergency broomstick licenses with the Department of Magical Transportation. The Department of Magical Games and Sports needed her assistance getting the Chudley Cannons into France for their match against the Quafflepunchers. The chairman delegated the task to the directors, including Ron Weasley: Director at British Quidditch HQ. Hermione was grateful his office was on the seventh floor, so she could always avoid him when the lift came down. Unfortunately, there was no avoiding him at this conference.

Hermione did not have time to wonder why Ron was shooting her odd looks when there were nine other people at the table and an international crisis to manage. Muggles would be sure to notice if an entire Quidditch team had to ride their broomsticks all the way from England to France. It wasn’t just Ron, though. Everyone in the cubicle farm outside her office smiled at her knowingly, and Hermione had the distinct feeling she was missing out on a joke.

It was midnight by the time Hermione got home, and she crashed onto her bed without even taking off her shoes. She woke ten hours later, already late for work. One cold shower and a large cup of coffee later, she stumbled into her office. Careful not to knock over her vase of lilies, she plopped into her desk chair and closed her eyes. She was so grateful to the team of repair wizards who fixed the Floo Network she had half a mind to send them all bottles of Firewhiskey.

She opened her eyes to see a giant stack of parchment on her desk. Hermione groaned and picked up the top page when a framed photo on the corner of her desk caught her attention. Hermione only owned one framed photo, a still snapshot of her family the day she got her Hogwarts letter. That picture was at home on her nightstand.

Inside the frame was a photo of Hermione and Draco. It was a good photo, to be sure, they caught her at a flattering angle. (Draco, of course, had no bad angles.) Hermione was holding a fairy between gloved hands, showing it to Malfoy. She remembered that moment—there was an intricate pattern on the fairy’s wings. Draco’s forehead was merely centimetres from her own and, if Hermione didn’t know any better, she’d say that was love in his eyes.

_Of course, it was just adrenaline from him running around the yard. That’s all._

The two of them were caught in a moment of laughter. Draco had just made a joke, one so inane Hermione couldn’t remember it, and she giggled because it was so stupid it was funny. Her nose crinkled and Draco’s face did that thing where one corner of his mouth twitches a little bit but he’s afraid to really laugh. It was a good picture. But then …

 _WHO THE HELL TOOK THIS PHOTO_? _!_

Hermione threw opened the door to her office and held the photo aloft.

“Where the hell did you get this photo?” she shouted.

“It was on the front page of the _Prophet_ , yesterday, Miss Granger,” Romilda said. “I thought you saw—”

“The _Daily Prophet?_ This was in the _Prophet?!”_

_Oh, no. No no no no no. This is bad. This looks like … Like we’re a couple!_

“At least it was below the fold?” offered one of the interns. Hermione ground her teeth to prevent herself from firing him on the spot.

“I want you to contact the _Daily Prophet_ and yell at them until they tell you who took this photo. And if they refuse--”

“Lord Malfoy was in yesterday, Miss Granger, but I told him you were tied up in meetings,” Romilda said. Hermione took a step backward.

“Draco was here?”

“He was furious, though I don’t understand why the two of you want to be so clandestine about it. That photo is adorable. Suffice it to say if Lord Malfoy has his way, I’d be surprised if the photographer still has his shutter finger.”

Hermione angrily paced in front of her secretary’s desk.

“This is exactly why I move every six months!” she shouted. “So this shit doesn’t happen! I just want to be left alone. When something good finally happens to me, the whole world does not have the right to know about it!”

Romilda nodded. Queensbury said, “Amen!” The interns all nodded in agreement and Hermione was beyond grateful for the loyalty of her staff.

Hermione looked at the photo again and decided to keep it. It was a nice picture, and it’d play right into their charade. Also, she looked happy and she wanted to remember that feeling. Sometimes she needed to be reminded she was capable of feeling happiness at all.

**.oOo.**

Draco Malfoy would probably never use her Floo. After the fiasco on Monday, Hermione considered that to be rather prudent. Hermione had just finished wrapping their gift for the dinner party when Draco knocked on her door. He brushed some of the snow out of his hair as he stepped into the flat.

“It’s freezing outside. Are you ready to—” Draco stopped suddenly after catching sight of Hermione. Her dress was a deep burgundy velvet that cinched in right at the waist and fell to her knees. (The outfit was Ginny-approved, as was the photo in the _Prophet._ “It looks real,” Ginny had said. Her eyes had the same knowing sparkle as Romilda’s, which Hermione had yet to understand.) The long sleeves kept the look from being too sexy, it was just dinner after all. Hermione really wanted to impress Draco’s friends, and make them believe this relationship was real. If they didn’t believe her, how could she hope to convince anyone else?

“How do I look?” she asked, spinning around on the toes of her tall black boots.

“Like if you keep dressing like this, I may actually fall in love with you,” Draco replied.

_I wouldn’t mind all that much._

Hermione flushed bright red, whether from her own thought or Draco’s compliment, she couldn’t tell.

“I, um, wow …” Draco seemed to forget how to move for a moment. “I just feel … very odd right now,” he said, perplexed. Hermione was confused.

“Odd in what way?”

Draco stepped around Hermione and examined their gift.

“Your wrapping skills are marvelous.”

“Odd in what way?” Hermione repeated. Draco tapped his knuckles on the counter before turning to face her.

“First of all, I am very nervous about this,” Draco admitted. “Bringing you is a … It’s the sort of gesture I might have undersold initially. We can bail and stay here or do anything else you want to do. I would understand completely.”

“No,” Hermione shook her head. “We are doing this. You help me, I help you. Trust me to do this, Draco, I can do it.”

“I know you can, I just don’t know if you want to. And part of me wants you to want to.” Draco cringed at his word choice. “l want to take you to see my friends, and while I know you are not actually my girlfriend, I want to show you off. Not because I’m tired of being alone, but because I feel honoured you chose me for this. I want everyone to know that you chose me.”

“Oh,” was all Hermione could manage to say.

_Well, I told him to be honest._

**.oOo.**

She was not prepared.

Hermione thought she was prepared, but she wasn’t. As Draco lifted his hand to knock on the door, her heart beat so frantically she felt it in her throat. Her hands shook around the gift between her fingers. After he knocked, Draco plucked the present from her grasp and took her hand. If Hermione’s grip was tighter than normal, well, he didn’t say anything.

A familiar voice shouted, “Draco!” as the door opened.

“Dean Thomas?” Hermione asked in disbelief.

“Hermione Granger? What are you doing here?” He caught sight of Draco and Hermione’s intertwined hands. “Oh. Oh! Oh, Merlin, it’s true then?” Hermione was still stunned.

“Draco never said you were going to be here.” She whacked Draco on the arm and he laughed. “You prat! You never told me there would be a familiar face. You had me all fucking worried for dinner with Dean Thomas?”

Draco shrugged.

“I forgot.”

“You were trying to play me, you arsehole.”

“You’re just angry because it worked,” Draco teased back. Dean Thomas made a disgusted noise.

“It’s so adorable, I am sick of you two already. Come on in,” he held the door open for them to enter.

Blaise Zabini’s house was gorgeous. Even if Draco hadn’t mentioned Blaise owned the restaurant they’d dined in on Friday, Hermione would have recognized the style. It was light, airy, and spacious. It was as though they’d begun to decorate for Christmas, but were only finished with the basics. Namely the small tree in the foyer and the gigantic one in their living area. A House-elf took their coats, and Hermione was sure to learn her name.

“Thank you, Dippy.”

Draco couldn’t suppress a smile.

“I suppose some things never change,” he whispered as they were led into the dining room. Hermione clutched his arm and ran her thumb over the sweater fabric.

“I thought you were ditching the jumpers?” she asked.

“You like the jumpers,” Draco said. It was true, Hermione loved the jumpers. This one was black with delicate embroidery, and he’d cuffed it back once to reveal green lining. He looked to be so much in his element, it was strange to see him as a family-and-friends sort of man. Hermione never imagined that was someone he could be.

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed. Dean turned around and she nudged Draco. “Give him the gift.” Draco handed the cylindrical package off to Dean, who thanked them and sat it next to the others beneath the tree.

Draco took the seat to the right of the head of the dining room table and motioned for Hermione to sit on his right next to Katie Bell who was there with … Pansy Parkinson? Across the table were Theo Nott, his girlfriend, then Zoe Accrington and Michael Corner. They all looked at Hermione with confused expressions, as if to say, “What the hell are you doing here?”

_I expected them all to be … I dunno. I didn’t know any of these people were together. Just how much of their lives have I missed?_

“Really, Malfoy? Granger? At this rate we’ll be overrun with Gryffindors,” Theo complained, jokingly, as Dean took his seat.

“I think Dean’s got some Slytherin in him, though,” Zoe insisted.

“Every night, in fact,” Blaise quipped, appearing from nowhere. He kissed Dean’s cheek before taking his seat at the head of the table. Draco wadded up his napkin and threw it at Blaise.

“You’re disgusting,” he laughed. “Save it for after the entrée, at least.”

Hermione felt strangely at ease, as though perhaps they would just ignore her for the entire meal. Their banter was so effortless, it was obvious this was a well-established tradition. Blaise waived his hand and their appetizer appeared, perfectly portioned on each plate. Halfway through, Draco found her hand and rubbed circles into her palm as if to say, _You’re doing so well._

It wasn’t meant to last, of course. Theo shot it all to hell halfway through the entrée.

“What the hell, Draco? Are you going to tell us how you two met?”

“On the Hogwarts Express?” he asked, hesitantly.

“He’s wondering where you two ran into each other and realized you didn’t hate each other anymore,” Zoe translated.

“Oh,” Draco said. That was all Draco said.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. We didn’t think of a backstory, we didn’t think of anything._

_Well, nothing plays quite like the truth, right?_

“Rosa Lee’s in Diagon Alley,” Hermione supplied. Draco shot her a warning glance, but she placed a hand on his knee to say, _Calm the fuck down, I’ve got this._

“I had an awful day at work after I found out I was about to be passed over for a promotion I deserve. And it was only lunchtime.” That got a chuckle from Katie Bell. “Draco sat at my table and we just … Hit it off, I suppose. Since my divorce, things have been a little tense and I tended to focus on work. Most people would say I concentrate on work too much, and they’re right. But someone has to keep the governtment running.

“Then Draco showed up and International Magical Cooperation didn’t seem to be quite as important.”

Draco placed his hand over Hermione’s. She glanced over at him to see … _Wait, is he blushing?_

“So you work in the IMC?” Zoe asked, both impressed and intrigued.

“She’s the director,” Draco corrected. That elicited a couple impressed gasps, and Draco smiled with satisfaction.

“That’s amazing,” Theo said, impressed. “So you just …?”

“Make sure the world doesn’t fall apart, yeah,” Hermione smiled. “That’s me.”

“Tell us how Draco is ‘on the job,’ then,” Pansy Parkinson asked, clearly not referring to Draco’s work ethic. Hermione choked on her food and took a sip of water to wash it down.

“Really, Pans?” Draco leaned backward to chastise her. “That’s your segue? I thought you were more creative.”

“What?” Pansy shrugged. “I was trying to be delicate,” she said. Hermione may not have known Pansy Parkinson very well, but the question was obviously a test.

_He hasn’t even kissed me yet. Oh, fuck it, play along._

“Let’s just say it takes someone _excellent_ to get me to come home from work.”

Draco laughed.

“I must be pretty decent, since I have to compete with Blaise’s cooking now.” Draco leaned closer to Hermione and put his arm around the back of her chair. “The sounds she makes when she’s eating good food? Blaise’s lemon cake gets more action than I do.”

“No more corner seats for the two of you, then, that’s for sure,” Blaise joked. Hermione sighed in relief.

_Test passed._

“What made you give Draco a chance, Granger?” Katie asked. “I know how hard it can be to overlook past indiscretions.” She shot a pointed look at Pansy. Hermione shrugged.

“The way he spoke about his son,” Hermione admitted.

The table went silent. Everyone froze, even Dean, whose fork was halfway to his mouth. It was almost comical except Hermione had the sense she said something wrong. Draco tensed beside her and Hermione wondered if she stepped too close to the truth.

“You … You told her about your son on the first date?” Zoe asked incredulously. Draco cleared his throat and removed his arm from behind Hermione.

“It wasn’t even the first date,” he admitted. “I just … What would you call it, Hermione? A business meeting? We wanted to figure out whether it was worth attempting because love has not smiled upon either one of us, and we knew there would be a lot of attention once word got out if we went through with it.”

“We weren’t wrong,” Hermione quipped.

“I felt it was best to tell her because she was honest about her divorce and we needed an honest start.”

“That’s right, what happened between you and Weasley?” Theo asked. “I hear he’s with that Quidditch player now.”

Hermione ground her teeth together as everyone else at the table groaned.

“You did not just ask her—” Draco began but was cut off.

“Really, Theo?” Katie asked.

“Put two and two together, man,” Dean supplied.

“Oh,” Theo said, embarrassed. “For what it’s worth, I think you leveled up.”

Hermione glanced at Draco and smiled.

“I think you might be right.”

“Granger,” Blaise called. “I need you in the kitchen to help plate dessert.”

No one seemed to think this was out of the ordinary, but when the kitchen door slammed shut behind them, Hermione could tell this would not be a pleasant conversation. Blaise admitted as much, told her not to touch anything.

“He told me what the two of you are doing,” Blaise said. “I think it’s selfish and wrong of you to take advantage of him like this.”

The most important thing to know about Blaise Zabini is that he’s a Siren. He was beautiful and charming until he had his target where he wanted them. Oh, hell, he was gorgeous, though. He took “tall, dark, and handsome” to a new level. Draco was self-assured, but his personality had hints of remorse and self-doubt. Blaise was self-confidence in its purest form. If someone could bottle it up and sell it, they would be rolling in Galleons.

He handled a knife blade the way most wizards handled a wand: with ease, like an extension of a limb. Ditto the ice cream scoop. He had his hair pulled back into a purposefully-messy bun, and laughed when Hermione asked if he ever wore an apron.

“Granger, you cannot possibly understand the pain Draco goes through every day,” Blaise said as he scooped sorbet into small glass bowls. “He told Astoria he did not want to have a child. He loved her so much that he would end the Malfoy line if it meant they could spend more time together. But Astoria insisted Draco needed someone to love him even after she was gone.”

_I had no idea._

“He loves Scorpius more than anything in the world. Yet, part of him wonders how much time he would’ve had with his wife if she never had a son. He feels empty without her but he feels even worse for thinking of a world without his son in it.

“When we told him to start seeing people, we meant he should fuck around, not get into another relationship. One that isn’t even real! Draco deserves more than that. He tries so hard to atone for everything he did, just ask Katie.

“I see how he looks at you, Hermione, and you need to stop toying with him. He is weak right now and he is one moment away from falling in love with you. I will not allow you to break him because once again, it will be me picking up the pieces when you do.”

_That is ridiculous. Draco is a sublime actor, certainly, but he wanted this to be a business deal. He thinks of this as repaying a debt._

“If anyone is in danger of forgetting this is not real, it’s me,” Hermione insisted. “I have to remind myself constantly that his act if just a façade to get me a job.”

“If you truly believe that then you are a fucking idiot.”

Hermione had half a mind to lunge at Blaise over the island countertop.

_No one speaks to me this way._

“I forgive that insult because you care for Draco, and I appreciate your concern for him. Don’t you think I deserve more than a fake relationship? Don’t you think I wish I could have one? I can’t decorate a damn Christmas tree without making the front page of the _Daily Prophet._ I know what it’s like to have your heart broken. I also know it will be harder for Draco to move on, and it’s taken me five years. If I am nothing more than a step forward for him, that’s okay.

“I promise I won’t hurt him.”

“I believe that you will try, but his heart is fragile and when this ends you will break it.”

Before Hermione could respond, Blaise waved a hand and all ten bowls of sorbet disappeared.

“Dessert is served.”

**.oOo.**

No one seemed to notice if Hermione seemed a bit off back at the table. Why would they? They didn’t know her at all. Well, Katie did, but if she noticed she didn’t say anything. Draco shot her a couple of odd looks, but nothing else. After dessert, which was splendid, Dean clapped his hands and announced,

“Time for gifts!”

They all took places on one of the couches surrounding the Christmas tree, as Dean and Blaise sat on stools in front of them. Theo and his girlfriend bought them an ornament in the shape of a baguette, which appeared to be an inside joke as Dean doubled-over in laughter when they opened it. Zoe and Corner brought five bottles of “homemade hot sauce,” which Blaise was anxious to try. Pansy and Katie brought a bamboo steamer and tied it with a bow made of twill. (“It’s a pie carrier!”)

“What, exactly, did you get them?” Draco whispered. Hermione smiled as Blaise picked up the long, round package wrapped in paper patterned with mistletoe.

“Saved the rookies for last!” Dean teased. Blaise pulled off the wrapping and looked at it skeptically.

“A candle?” he asked. Draco shot Hermione a skeptical glance.

It was a cream-coloured pillar candle. Everyone had the same look on their face, which indicated the gift was not up to par.

_O, ye of little faith._

“It’s an Amortentia candle,” Hermione revealed, and everyone immediately perked up. “When I was promoted to head of the office, I got one for Ronald because I knew I’d be away so often. It’s meant to be lit when the person you love is away so part of them is still with you.”

Hermione was momentarily lost in the memory of when she gave it to Ron. He had the same, “What the hell is this?” reaction as Blaise, and she’d laughed. Three months later, she was divorced. 

_I only wonder when it stopped smelling like me._

Draco protectively wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and Hermione realized she must’ve spoken that last bit aloud. She nervously cleared her throat and said,

“I trust the two of you will get more use out of one.”

“Aw, Hermione,” Dean got up to give her a hug and quick kiss on the cheek. “That was really thoughtful of you.”

Hermione smiled and Draco dragged her back down to their spot on the couch. He positioned her between his spread legs and placed his hands on her waist in a gesture meant to convey, “ _Mine!”_ Dean laughed,

“Easy, tiger.”

Blaise stared intently at the candle in his hand, lost in thought.

“Thank you,” he said, eventually. “I … believe you will take good care of my best friend.”

_I will._

They left soon after and strolled to Apparition point on the edge of Blaise’s property.

“I think this went well,” Hermione said. “They all care about you so much; it’s endearing. I was worried there at the beginning, but we made it through. Saturday, though, is our real debut as a power couple,” she joked. “I’m excited.”

Hermione let out a surprised gasp when Draco wrapped her in a firm hug. A chests-squished-together, toes-off-the-ground, hard to breathe hug.

“You did so well,” Draco said. “Unbelievably well,” he insisted as he set her back down. Hermione beamed at him. His cheeks were pink from the wind, but his eyes were wet like he was holding back tears.

“Are you … Are you alright?” she asked, placing a hand on his arm. Draco smiled and laughed aloud as he took off a glove and wiped his eyes with the side of his hand.

“Better than I have been in ages,” he replied. “And I just, I am a little sad, a little worried. The gift was so thoughtful and you fit in with them so well—”

“Well I knew half of them,” Hermione insisted. Draco shook his head.

“It’s more than that, Hermione. Blaise is away all the time for business and sometimes Dean leaves to go watch Muggle sports with his mates. That gift is something they would expect to receive from someone who knows them very well. You just …” he chuckled. “You just knew anyway.”

“This was your night,” she insisted. “This was our time to make you happy.”

“I am so unbelievably happy, and I worry by the time I figure out how to make you as happy as I am right now, this will be over.”

Draco stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, looked up at the sky, and sighed heavily. Hermione definitely did not watch the bob of his Adam’s apple. She certainly wasn’t hoping Blaise was right and Draco might be falling for her. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

“Hey, this isn’t about making me happy,” Hermione said. “We are just getting me what I deserve, alright? You are a good person and I am too, damn it! My boyfriend and my personal life shouldn’t matter when choosing the next undersecretary, but they do. We’re only playing the game, and the only thing I need you to focus on is helping me get that job. It’s not your responsibility to make me happy.”

 “But I want to,” Draco admitted. “I want to.”


	6. Chapter 6: December 3rd/5th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A domestic and a party ... with another domestic. (Also smooches.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: How long should a chapter be?  
> Google: 3,000 - 5,000 words  
> Me: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

She Disapparated.

She panicked, so what? Anyone would panic if their supposedly-platonic fake boyfriend said something like that. Hermione knew it looked bad; she briefly considered Apparating right back to him and apologizing. What he said was fine, it was the look on his face that had Hermione pacing in her kitchen.

Draco wanted to make her happy. The last person Hermione let in close enough to try essentially stabbed her heart clean through with a broomstick. Now Draco Malfoy stood in front of her saying if she opened her heart just the tiniest bit, he would spend the upcoming weeks reminding her what romance and family could be like. He may not have said it aloud, but he promised a glimpse of the life she and Ron never allowed themselves to have.

Hermione couldn’t sleep. On her bed, eyes closed, all she could see was Draco, frightened and vulnerable in the face of her silence. Her thoughts swirled like unhelpful background noise.  _“Draco deserves better than a fake relationship.” “I promised Blaise I wouldn’t hurt him, and clearly I’m off to a great start.” “I should call this off. I care too much.”_

Hermione did not get off to a great start the following morning. She arrived at the IMC clutching a Romilda-sized cup of coffee and wearing sunglasses to hide bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes. Her secretary greeted Hermione with an eerily chipper, “Morning, Miss Granger!” and Hermione grumbled “Mhmm” in reply. She threw open her office door and sighed.

Draco Malfoy was in her chair with his feet propped up on her desk.

“Morning, Granger.”

_This is not happening to me right now._

She turned around and slowly walked back to her secretary’s desk.

“Why is Draco Malfoy in my office?”

“Because your boyfriend gets entry privileges—Oh, Merlin’s pants!” she exclaimed as Hermione took off her sunglasses. Romilda lowered her voice and started wading through her desk drawers.

“I’ve got hair elastics, anti-frizz potion, red-eye treatment, breath mints…” She produced each of the items and placed them on the desk at Hermione’s disposal. “I’ve got a friend in the Department of Mysteries who can get a spare change of clothes up here in ten minutes. Can’t ask where he gets them, of course—“

“Thank you, but what I need is for Malfoy to get out of my office.”

“Oh,” Romilda realized, “did you two have a domestic?”

“I think we’re about to,” Hermione replied. Her grip tightened around the coffee cup as she stepped back into her office.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“That’s a nice picture.” Draco nodded at the framed photo of the two of them. Hermione approached him and slammed the picture face-down on the desk. With a wave of her wand, the door slammed shut.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she repeated. Draco only leaned further back in reply. Hermione threw her sunglasses on the desk and took more than a few gulps of coffee.

“How is this possible? I ditch you at the end of our date yet you show up perfectly coiffed and I look like I found the business end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt,” Hermione huffed and help up a pinkie. “I even splinched off a fingernail.” Draco chuckled.

“I have a child, I know how to get ready after a sleepless night. Now, I am here because I cannot figure out why what I said last night was wrong.”

“It wasn’t wrong.”

“Well you panicked and left, so something about it was wrong,” Draco insisted.

“You’re right,” Hermione shrugged, “I panicked.”

“Why?”

“Because you want to make me happy!” Hermione shouted. “I haven’t been this close in ages. In fact, I’m pretty adamant about running away from it. Last time someone made me happy, he took it away and in the end, it wasn’t worth it. But you were standing there just so certain that I thought you might be able to do it.”

“How is that a problem?”

“You’ll take it away, too!”

Draco stood up from the chair, suddenly irate. His hands balled up into fists and there was a fire in his eyes Hermione hadn’t seen before.

“If we are going to continue this, Granger, it’s best you understand that I am not Ron Weasley.”

Hermione shook her head, “I know, I know. It’s stupid. It’s just that Blaise said—you know what, never mind. It was nothing—“

“What did Blaise say to you?” Draco asked, fire raging on.

“He said that I will break your heart and, I dunno, Draco, I think we both may be headed that way. I try not to, but I enjoy you and I enjoy your jumpers and that alone makes me feel like I am already in too deep.”

“Blaise is a good friend, the best of friends, and he also happens to be completely fucking wrong.” Draco sighed and ran a hand over his face before continuing. “When Astoria died, I couldn’t function. I was so overwhelmed with sadness, so broken that I quite literally could not care for my son. Dean and Blaise took Scorpius in, so I could learn to put my life back together.

“But that’s just it, Granger, I learned. I understand why he wants to protect me, but I am a grown man and can make my own choices. I’ve been dealing with unrequited feelings for you since I was thirteen. I learned how to cope with that, too.”

“That’s not funny,” Hermione insisted.

“I’m not laughing,” Draco replied. “When this ends, it will hurt, but feeling as happy as I felt last night more than outweighs whatever pain happens down the line. This ends when you want it to.”

“And what about after this ends?” Hermione asked. “Will you still be my friend?”

“I’ll be whatever you want when this ends.”

Hermione groaned and rolled her eyes.

“That’s it! That’s what I’m talking about! You say these things and you just let me take whatever I want from you. Why are you so willing?”

Draco busied himself spinning Hermione’s desk chair, pretending he hadn’t heard the question. Once the silence became unbearable he said,

“I fear the answer to that question will only frighten you.”

“Try me,” Hermione demanded.

“My feelings for you are genuine,” he revealed.

_Oh, no. That’s exactly what Blaise meant when he said Draco is one moment away from falling in love with me. The right moment will push him there._

_Part of me wants him there, but this relationship is based on a lie. It can’t work, not really … Can it?_

Draco’s face went red when Hermione didn’t respond.

“I just want to get lost in the idea that the part of you that hates me is smaller than the part that likes me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Hermione insisted. “But after Ron, I’m not going to put my heart in your hands. Not like this. I haven’t learned to move on, Draco, and this,” she motioned to the space between the two of them, “scares me. I’ve had twice as much time as you to move forward, yet all I can do is cope with what he did to me.”

“Let me teach you, then,” Draco all but begged. “For once let me teach you how to do something. If I get lost in you along the way, let it be my problem.”

 _I want him to, I want him to show me what it should feel like. What’s the worst that could happen_?

“Okay,” Hermione agreed.

Draco was overjoyed and leaned across the desk to kiss her. Or, well, almost. About halfway, Draco spotted a dozen small yellow ears sticking out from beneath Hermione’s door.

“What the hell are those?”

Hermione tried to shrug off her disappointment as she turned around. She went from disappointed to furious real quick. Hermione threw open the door to reveal her entire office staff and quite a few others listening intently to their extendable ears. The office was packed almost wall-to-wall!

“Is there a single secretary in the Ministry at their desk right now?!” she shouted.

“I might have dispatched a few memos,” Romilda smiled shamelessly.

“Consider your lunch break dispatched along with them,” Hermione snapped. Her secretary was not phased. She waved everyone away but leaned into Hermione’s side and subtly shoved two breath mints into Hermione’s hand. When she popped them both into her mouth, Romilda’s expression was far too smug. Hermione turned around only to run into Draco, who was trying to exit.

“I’m sorry about them,” Hermione said, nodding at the crowd heading out the office door.

“Don’t be,” Draco said, pulling on one of her curls. “I’m still flattered you’re losing sleep over my feelings,” he teased. Hermione swatted his hand away.

“Shut up, I look terrible.”

“Nah,” his smile widened. “Your messy hair and terrible t-shirt are kind of cute.”

Hermione glanced down at the Gryffindor Quidditch t-shirt peeking out from her unbuttoned coat.

“It’s not stupid,” she petulantly insisted.

“It’s a little stupid,” Draco said. He stuffed his arms inside her coat and encircled her waist. “Are we still on for Saturday?”

“Yes,” Hermione said.

“So tell me then, what the hell am I supposed to wear?” Draco joked.

“Suit and tie,” Hermione said. “We have to outshine Parvati and Cormac.”

Draco pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

“I think we can do that.”

A swarm of “aaaw”s filtered through the glass doors from the group of secretaries waiting for the lift. Both Hermione and Draco laughed.

“What are we doing?” Hermione asked as she buried her face in Draco’s chest. (Turns out the button-downs were not an empty threat.)

“Getting you what you deserve,” Draco replied.

**.oOo.**

Hermione was far less nervous heading to the party at the Shacklebolts’ than she was at Blaise Zabini’s. This party had more riding on it, but she would be in familiar territory. After her discussion with Draco, Hermione decided it would be okay to get caught up in their fake romance. Though the “fake” portion was rapidly becoming more opaque, she trusted Draco to tell her if he ever fell too hard or too deep.

The Minister’s house was splendid. The wood tones were deep and faint Christmas carols emitted from the radio to accompany the conversation as people milled about. The Christmas tree in the living area rose nearly to the rafters. The food smelled good and the champagne was flowing. It was exactly what Hermione imagined home would feel like.

Draco and Hermione were some of the last guests to arrive. They were greeted at the door by a tall, dark-skinned woman whose eyes could warm someone like a cup of hot cocoa. When she spotted them, an excited I-knew-it! sort of smile worked its way across her face.

“Hermione Granger!” She stretched out her arms and wrapped Hermione in a hug. “Look at you! All gorgeous with your new beau,” she teased. Hermione blushed. Her blue A-line dress was shorter than she’d normally consider appropriate. Ron Weasley was at the party with Suzanne Leconte. Hermione told herself these two things were unrelated.

“It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Shacklebolt,” Hermione replied. “Your home is so lovely, and probably even more familiar than my own, if I’m being honest.”

“Thank you, I appreciate you saying that, Hermione. You know you are welcome here any time.”

“Oh! Draco, this is Kerry Shacklebolt, Chief Healer at St. Mungo’s and Kingsley’s wife.”

Draco blushed and Mrs. Shacklebolt laughed.

“Merlin almighty, Draco!” she teased and turned her gaze back on Hermione. “Draco here, excuse me— _Lord Malfoy—_ is St. Mungo’s biggest donor. I tried to get a ward named after him, but—”

“No one would walk into a ward with the Malfoy name on it and expect to get better,” Draco quipped.

“That picture of you two in the paper was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!” Mrs. Shacklebolt continued. “My husband didn’t believe it, of course, but you’ll show him.” She winked.

“Oh my God, you two are friends!” Hermione realized.

“Hermione really is the best, Kerry,” Draco insisted. “I cannot say that enough, and she doesn’t need me stacking the deck for her.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Now, I’ve kept you too long. Liddy will take your coats and you should grab some champagne. Head toward the tree with your gift.”

She shooed them away and Hermione started frantically whispering to Draco.

“You know the Minister’s wife and you’re just telling me now?!”

“Hermione, sometimes I think you forget you don’t need me to get this job. You could dump me right here in front of everyone and it would only earn you more favour.”

“I don’t believe that—”

“Hermione!” Padma appeared out of nowhere, a contempt-filled smile plastered on her face. Hermione returned her hug anyway as she gave Hermione the once-over. “It’s so good to see you! With … Draco Malfoy?”

“Lord Malfoy, Padma,” Draco nodded curtly. Padma sneered at his response.

“Yes, well, I’m here with my husband, Terry. I am Assistant Director in the Department of Magical Transportation, you know.”

“Assistant Director, how quaint,” Draco feigned a casual tone. “Director Granger, would you care for something to drink?” he asked, wrapping his arm around Hermione’s shoulders and guiding her to the tree. Hermione couldn’t hide her smile.

Draco went to grab two champagne flutes and Cormac McLaggen appeared, as though the universe had decided Hermione’s life suddenly wasn’t terrible enough. She forced a smile as he went in for a hug.

“Hermione Granger! Glad to see you! You remember Caroline Purvis? We’re married now. She’s over there somewhere,” he nodded dismissively. When Hermione dropped her arms to sever their contact, one of Cormac’s hands remained steadfastly on her back.

Her smile faded and she grit her teeth.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said as his hand started to slowly travel downward. It wasn’t an innocent move; the way his fingers pressed against her made Hermione feel gross. It was in complete contrast to the gentle, hesitant touches she was accustomed to from Draco. Hermione tried to subtly squeeze away, it really wouldn’t do to make a scene with one of her competitors.

“You really haven’t changed much at all,” Cormac said.

Hermione was frozen, unsure what to do. She was still flush against him, trapped by his hand hovering just on the topside of her tailbone. He had always been handsy, but he was married! There was no way out of the situation without attracting attention. However, her yuletide saviour returned, champagne in hand.

“Take your hands off my girlfriend  _now._ ”

She had never been so happy to hear Draco’s voice. Hermione let out a sigh of relief once Cormac stepped away.

“Just saying hello to …” He glanced at Hermione skeptically. “Your girlfriend? Really?”

“Really,” Draco said, and his tone made clear it was a threat. “Caroline is over there.” Draco raised his glass to her on the other side of the room and she responded with a wave. “I think it’s best you leave us now.”

Cormac chuckled and said, “Well, it’s nice to see y—”

“Now,” Draco demanded.

As Cormac slunk away, Draco placed himself in front of Hermione. Once he was out of earshot Draco handed Hermione a champagne flute and muttered, “I fucking hate him.”

“You don’t have to be so possessive,” Hermione said.

“I’m not being possessive, I am putting McLaggen on the underside of my shoe where he belongs. Cornering you out in the open like that is a power play, Hermione.”

“That’s disgusting and it’s insulting.”

“And that’s why we’re making you Undersecretary,” Draco replied, clinking their glasses together.

Harry and Ginny came over to spare Draco what would’ve been a long lecture about Hermione’s ability to stand up for herself. Harry shot a glare back in Cormac’s direction and Hermione prayed no one else had seen. They hugged, and he shook Draco’s hand. Harry still seemed a bit perplexed by seeing the two of them together.

“You, um, you look great Hermione,” Harry said. Draco’s arm sneaked its way around her waist.

“She does,” he confirmed.

“You two are amazing together,” Ginny beamed. “How are you? How is life? How was the party?”

“Thank you,” Draco replied. “Well, excellent, and better than I ever imagined.”

Then Draco and Ginny started chatting about Quidditch and Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry stared at her with the same odd look he had last Sunday, as though he just knew there should be something off about the two of them, but there wasn’t. Hermione was in her tallest heels, as close to Draco’s height she had ever been. She liked being this close to him,  _to his eyes_ , and how his thumb absentmindedly rubbed circles into her waist. Discussing Quidditch with Ginny looked like a heaven-sent conversation for him. His eyes were bright as Ginny discussed her Nimbus 2009 versus the newest Firebolt.

He had outdone himself in an effort to look the part of her boyfriend. Draco’s grey suit with navy accents perfectly complemented her dress. While Draco insisted that was a “happy accident,” considering the way he and Ginny chatted away like old friends, well, Hermione thought he probably had some help in the selection process. Hermione surveyed all the other couples in the room and none of them looked like appropriate successors to the Shacklebolts.

_We might just be able to pull this off, after all._

“Have you spoken to Ron yet?” Harry whispered.

“Yes, Harry, because when I come to a party with my boyfriend the first thing I do is find my ex-husband. It really lightens the mood.”

“Don’t you think you should’ve given him some warning, though? I mean, if it was anyone but Malfoy—“

“I gave him as much warning as he gave me,” Hermione quipped.

“That’s fair,” Harry nodded. “He saw the photo in the  _Prophet_  and thought it was fake. He’s still on the fence and I know, I know Draco has changed. Believe me, I saw what a right state he was in a couple years ago and you don’t come out of that the way you were before. But Ron doesn’t know that, he still sees Draco as the kid from school.”

“As much as Ronald still may care for me, whom I date is of no concern to him. If he doesn’t trust me to make my own choices, that’s his problem.”

“Fair enough,” Harry nodded. “Gin, if you’re finished talking Malfoy’s ear off, I think the Minister is about to make a toast.”

Ginny placed a reassuring hand on Malfoy’s shoulder before following Harry to one of the couches in front of the tree. Hermione went to join them, but Draco grabbed her arm.

“You are not sitting down in that dress,” he said. Hermione started to protest, but after glancing down figured it was probably for the best.

She spotted Ron across the room. Suzanne Leconte was almost as tall as him, long-legged and blonde, and worst of all she was frustratingly nice. Ron looked at his wife with the same awestruck expression he once used for Hermione. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute.

“Hey, Draco,” Hermione mumbled.

“Hmm?”

“You know how I said you don’t need to be possessive?” He nodded. “Forget that.”

Draco chanced a glance toward Ron, who was staring at them rather intently. He smiled maliciously before returning his attention to Minister Shacklebolt.

“Let him wait.”

Hermione didn’t know if Draco had a plan, but there was little to be done about it. Minister Shacklebolt raised his glass and his voice thundered in the small space.

“Kerry and I welcome you all into our home for a celebration of this Christmas holiday. It is a time to celebrate the love of family and friends, a time to think back on the Christmases with those no longer with us, and to open our hearts to those we will welcome for future Christmases.” Both he and his wife shot pointed glances at Hermione and Draco.

“Family gives you perspective. They force you to think outside yourself, to put your heart in their hands and trust they will take care of it just as you take care with theirs. We make decisions which shape our world, that shape everyone’s lives. Perspective is essential for the good that we do at the Ministry of Magic, as we’ve seen just how much a corrupting influence the imbalance of love and power can be. You all do amazing work and I could not dream of a better, more accomplished staff.

“From our family to yours,” Kingsley raised his glass,” happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas,” everyone replied and sipped some champagne.

Draco and Hermione milled their way around the couches and up to the Shacklebolts. Draco pulled a small wooden box from inside his jacket.

“What did you get them?” Hermione asked.

“Not an Amortentia candle! Do you have any idea how many gifts I will go through trying to match up to that?”

Hermione smiled a very satisfied smile as Draco handed Minister Shacklebolt their gift. He opened the box to reveal a glass-blown Phoenix ornament for their tree. Hermione gasped.

_It’s perfect and gorgeous and everything I would’ve never thought to bring._

“My friends have a tradition of buying ornaments for whoever hosts Christmas. They are meant to be lighthearted I suppose, but I couldn’t think of anything to better represent what you stand for.”

Minister Shacklebolt smiled. Kingsley Shacklebolt grinned ear-to-ear at Draco Malfoy and if Hermione hadn’t been standing right next to them, she never would’ve believed it. Kingsley looked at where Hermione’s arm threaded around Draco’s and said,

“I think you might yet.”

It was Draco’s turn to blush.

“I appreciate this, Lord Malfoy,” he continued. “You have a great admirer in my wife, and your …?”

“Girlfriend,” Hermione supplied.

_That was a little too instinctive._

“Girlfriend,” Kingsley repeated, “is the hardest-working person I have ever met. I trust you will take good care of her.”

“I would hesitate to say Hermione needs anyone to care for her, but I plan to do it anyway, Minister.”

“Good answer,” Kingsley patted Draco on the shoulder and they shuffled along to the other side of the tree.

Hermione grabbed Draco’s hand and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She pressed her forehead into Draco’s shoulder and he placed a reassuring hand on the nape of her neck.

“We did it,” she muttered. “I can’t believe we did it.”

“Yeah, holding onto you and telling people you’re my girlfriend, it’s been a tough gig, Hermione. I can’t believe I made it through,” he joked. Hermione laughed.

“Stop, you know what I mean. The way you said I fit in with your friends? You fit in here, too. And that makes me …” _I can’t say happy._ “… Pleased.”

Draco stared at her like he knew happiness was on the tip of her tongue. Hermione had to look away because he just _knew_ and she hated being read so effortlessly. She spotted Ron talking to some of his Ministry co-workers several metres away.

“Draco?”

“Hmm.”

“Ron’s looking over here and I want you to kiss me.”

Draco didn’t bother looking over.

“That’s not how I imagined you asking.”

“Well I’m asking you now,” she said urgently.

“It’s a little insulting.”

“Hurry along, he’s going to look away!” Hermione nervously glanced over once again.

“No, he’s not.”

And suddenly Draco was kissing her.

Hermione was surprised at first, though she asked him to do it. It wasn’t like the quick, tentative, half-hearted kiss she expected to receive. Draco Malfoy kissed like he’d thought about it. His lips felt nice and soft, and Hermione wasn’t sure why she slid her tongue into his mouth other than it felt like the right thing to do. She gripped his lapels and his hands were on her lower back, pulling her closer. The button of his suit jacket pressed into her abdomen; there was no space between them.

She was reeling when Draco pulled back. He looked over at Ron and smiled. He took a step back and Hermione hadn’t fully come back down to Earth, still in some strange headspace that was promising but not quite real. It was so quick …

_Too quick._

“Well, you were rather eager there, Granger. Tell me, am I better than the lemon cake?”

_I’d transfigure myself into a teacup if it meant spending more time against your lips._

“Not sure, Malfoy. I’ll need more experience,” she joked.

“More kisses?”

“More lemon cake,” she quipped. Malfoy playfully placed a hand over his heart.

“I’m wounded Granger. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to nurse my pride with some of the biscuits they’ve got over there,” and he headed off toward the food table.

Hermione’s heart beat much too fast. She forgot what it was like to be touched, to be kissed, to be wanted like that. For the first time, Draco was not hesitant to go in for what he wanted, and Hermione was suddenly aware just how much of herself she was willing to give him. Her hands shook and she took slow, careful breaths to steady herself.

Once she finally felt she could take a step without wobbling over, she strode over to Draco at the snack table. She stopped halfway because Ron was at his side, talking rather heatedly.

“I had her when she was younger, I had her first, and I know what she’s like. There’s no reason—”

“Yes, Weasley, you were with Hermione five years ago. She was younger, more innocent, and then you made her think she wasn’t enough, wasn’t worthy. It has taken her five years to move on, is that not enough for you? Do you enjoy her suffering? She’s stronger now, fucking iron-willed, she has intellect none of us can ever hope to match and you cannot stand that she chose me.”

“Hermione!” Ron said when spotted her. She walked to Draco’s side, and her boyfriend busied himself piling some of the snacks onto a plate.

“You look fantastic,” Ron said. “It has been awhile since I last saw you.”

“You saw me on Monday. Why did you come over here to talk to Draco instead of talking to me?” she asked.

“Because I …”

“He is under the impression I Imperiused you or force-fed you love potion,” Draco said around a mouthful of carrots. “Because as the single father of a four-year-old I have nothing but time in which to brew love potions.” He rolled his eyes and Hermione groaned in disgust.

“Seriously, Ronald? Harry said you’d taken this a bit far, but I didn’t realize—”

“Well what the hell am I supposed to think, Hermione?” Ron shrugged. “You just show up out of nowhere with Draco bloody Malfoy? If it was anybody but Malfoy—”

“Alright, I am sick of everyone saying that to me!” Hermione shouted perhaps a little too loudly. People started to stare, but she was on a roll.

“Since we started dating, Draco has been nothing but kind to me. He compliments me, he’s funny, and you know what? I make him happy. And when he tells me I make him happy, I believe it.” Ron flushed an angry red. “Draco accepts that I am moving frustratingly slow in this, and it’s all your fault, Ron Weasley! Here we are at our first real party together and you have to muck it all up because … why?

“You can’t stand Draco? That’s fine. You forfeited your right to have any say in my life choices a long time ago. Draco has never once made me feel anything less than what I am. When we have a disagreement, he talks to me about it, and we work it out together. There’s no curse, no love potion, just my affection. I’m moving on. Finally.”

The entire party was staring at them, in various states of jaws-dropped. Draco swallowed hard and said,

“I could shag you right here on this table.”

“Shut up,” Hermione playfully insisted.

“Look, ‘Mione, I’m sorry if I offended you, but can you blame me for being suspicious? He was a—”

“Please don’t say it,” Draco said.

“—Death Eater—”

“Damn,” Draco sighed.

“—and I think that warrants some explanation.”

Hermione approached Ron so they were nearly nose-to-nose.

“If you think I don’t still love you, you’re mad. Draco has seen what I’m like and he is trying to help me through it. You don’t know the first thing about Draco, Ronald. I have seen the good in him, the sadness, and he’s been willing to show me every piece of his life. He’s never hidden anything from me and I have seen Draco Malfoy at his worst. I’ve forgiven him for what he did to me, and so should you.”

She turned to see Draco standing there with a tiny paper plate in his hand, piled with little cookies. Considering she’d just exposed a significant part of him, it was not the expression she expected to see. He wasn’t vulnerable, that was pride in his eyes. Draco was slack-jawed and unable to process what Hermione said about him. Hermione shuffled awkwardly.

“Well, I think we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Hermione said. No one had moved, they were all staring.

_This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen._

“No, no!” Mrs. Shacklebolt came over to the other side of the snack table, their coats in hand. “You are welcome here any time, Hermione, you know that.”

“I appreciate that, Mrs. Shacklebolt. Both Draco and I are grateful for the kindness you have shown us, and I only hope this hasn’t … deteriorated my standing with you in any way.”

“My respect for you only grows, Ms. Granger,” she winked.

**.oOo.**

“That was so stupid, Hermione!” Draco shouted once they Apparated back to her flat. “You didn’t need to defend me like that! It probably only lost you favour with the committee.”

“You think I was considering anyone else when speaking to Ronald?” Hermione said, dumbfounded.

“Weren’t you?” Draco asked.

“Of course I wasn’t! I am not going to lie. I’m not your girlfriend, but everything else I said was true. I shouldn’t have stepped out of line like that, but to have him think I was under the Imperius curse—”

“You meant what you were saying back there?” Draco asked.

“Of course!”

And then he was kissing her again, without hesitation. This one was messy, lots of tongue involved, and one of Draco’s hands was on her cheek, the other in her hair. He was warm and comfortable, but it was obvious his restraint wavered. He was hovering much too close to the line Blaise had drawn for them.

Once they broke apart, Draco rested his forehead against Hermione’s.

“Come home with me? Now, tomorrow, whatever day you have off. Spend a day with me at the manor.”

_Tell him no. Tell him this is a bad idea._

“I’m not sure.”

“You said you missed Christmas dinners so let me make you one. Let the House-elves make you one? I’ll even give them a few Galleons if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Next Sunday,” Hermione heard herself say. “I’m free next Sunday?”

“Excellent!”

Draco pressed a kiss to her hand.

“Be seeing you, Hermione.”


	7. Chapter 7: December 10th/13th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has a realization, and then so does Draco. (AKA, Draco is a good father and head-over-heels in love with Hermione.)

Hermione had called an emergency meeting. She gave her staff half the day off and met her friends, quite a messy group, at Big Bean Shack. Ginny arrived with her Quidditch gear still on beneath her coat. Katie Bell arrived in pajama pants (“It’s my off day!”) and Romilda looked, well, amazing as always.

Hermione piled her plate with comfort food and dug in guiltily once they were all around the table. She exposed the secret to Romilda and Katie, who did not take it well. But if Hermione ever needed some girl time, it was right then.

“I don’t believe you,” Romilda shrugged. “The smile I saw was not a first date smile. You are far too comfortable around each other.”

“I agree,” Katie nodded. “And Draco was very possessive of you at dinner. I assumed you had been together several months.”

“It’d been a week,” Hermione admitted.

“No way,” Katie replied as Romilda swatted a bug away from their food.

“I warned you this would happen,” Ginny insisted.

“I know!” Hermione groaned. “He wants me to visit the manor on Sunday so we can spend the day together.”

“Why would you do that?” Katie asked. “If this whole thing is a charade for the Ministry committee, then why would you spend time together where no one else will see you?”

“Because it’s never been fake for Draco,” Romilda realized. “Merlin on high, everything you said to each other last week makes so much more sense! All that nonsense about ‘when this is over?’ You having to relearn to be happy? This is so much worse than I thought.”

“You have to cancel,” Katie insisted. “If this isn’t going to last, you can’t let Scorpius be part of it. If Draco asked you over, it’s because he wants you to meet his son. Which is crazy, Hermione.”

“I didn’t even know he had a child,” Ginny added.

“Draco is very protective of him,” Katie said, hesitantly. “There were a few weeks we weren’t sure Draco was going to make it. That’s why I called Harry … He knows how to deal with grief better than anyone. A couple months later Draco was finally in a place where he could take Scorpius back and pretty much dedicated his life to that little boy.”

“Wow,” Romilda sighed, both hands clutching a fizzy drink.

“I see it sometimes,” Hermione admitted. “He’ll be talking about something and suddenly just stops.”

“You have to cancel,” Katie insisted. “You can’t walk into Scorp’s life and walk out three weeks later.”

“I don’t want to,” Hermione revealed. She looked at their surprised faces and said, “I don’t want this to be a lie anymore. Honestly, the only lie has been the one I kept telling myself: that my feelings for him weren’t real. I want to make Draco part of my life, but … is that wrong? I told him from the beginning I wanted this to be a business deal. Now I’m changing everything.”

“Let me tell you what I saw,” Romilda said. She put down her cup and leaned forward so they could hear.

“I saw two people who decided whatever backlash and attention they got would be worth it, to spend time together. I’ve been your secretary seven years, Hermione, (You best not forget that when you become Minister.) and the day Draco Malfoy picked you up for what you say was your first date is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.

“Draco Malfoy was looking at you like a kid who just stepped into Honeydukes for the first time. He was looking at you like until that moment he didn’t know that kind of good existed in the world. All he wants is however much of yourself you’re willing to give him. If you’re ready to take a chance on anyone, make it him.”

_That’s really good advice._

“Bringing you to dinner was a bold move,” Katie said. “We consider them family dinners. It’s not a thing any of us would do unless we were certain that person would be in our lives for a very long time. Pans only brought me once before we were married and she was nervous as hell about it.”

“Draco tried to bail at the last minute,” Hermione said.

“For good reason. It’s a time to incorporate all the love we have, and if you don’t fit then you’re gone. If he brought you, he had to be sure.”

“Or he wanted an excuse to get out of our deal,” Hermione inferred. Everyone looked at her like she’d gone ‘round the bend.

“Of the four of us, Hermione, I am the one that’s seen what Draco looks like when he’s in love. I am telling you that he brought you to dinner because he was sure.”

Romilda smacked the table with her hand and raised it toward the ceiling as she shouted, “Amen!” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I think you two are looking at this the wrong way,” Ginny said. “I saw the two of them at the party and the way you were looking at Draco, my brother’s love potion theory was not out of the question.”

“Oh, hold on!” Romilda insisted.

“That’s harsh, Gin,” Katie scolded.

“No, I mean it. You gave us no warning and after five years of dateless nights you show up with your ex-husband’s least-favourite person? It’s suspicious. Then when he kissed you—“

“What?!”

“Spill right now!” Romilda demanded.

“Nothing innocent about it,” Ginny said. “The only reason his hands weren’t on her arse was because her dress was so short.”

“Hey! I thought I looked good,” Hermione whined.

“Fantastic,” Ginny confirmed, “and no one could miss the way the two of you seem to dominate everything. You walked in and it was like Mrs. Shacklebolt had been waiting for you to make things interesting. She was talking about your gift for ages, but the way you defended Draco and the things you said about him, Hermione, I worry you are too far gone and Draco has the upper hand. He’s gotten through lost love before and you haven’t.”

They squabbled for several minutes before Romilda joined back in.

“Listen, Hermione, Draco’s in love with you. He fell really fast and you don’t want to do the same thing, It’s perfectly okay to love someone who doesn’t love you back, but only if they’re worth it. The reason you come to work six days a week and work fourteen-hour days is you are afraid of letting go of your love for Ron Weasley.

“So ask yourself, is Ron worth it? Knowing what Draco can give you, has given you, will you be better off lonely or better off giving Malfoy the chance to show you what it’s like to be loved again? Because that’s all he’s been doing. The flowers, the dates, the dinner with friends, kissing you in public … He wanted to let everyone know that you are the one he wants. It’s time to decide whether you want to move forward or if you’re comfortable being alone.”

“Well what if Draco decides this is too much for him, Hermione?” Ginny asked. “What will you do then?’

Hermione dug back into her food and thought about it. Romilda had finished her soda so the air coming up through her straw acted as white noise. She had made a good point, but Ginny was right. Katie fiddled with her scarf as Ginny waited for an answer.

“I can’t be any worse off than I was two weeks ago,” Hermione finally said. “I want to try again and not because it’s been five years, but because Draco’s the right person. If he wants to make me happy, I want to let him.”

Romilda raised her empty cup.

“To Hermione and Draco!”

“Well, I think toasting with nothing is probably a bad omen,” Ginny said, but raised her own empty glass. “Fuck it. To Hermione and Draco!”

“Hermione and Draco,” Katie agreed, glass in the air.

Hermione smiled and raised her glass.

**.oOo.**

Hermione was not excited by the prospect of returning to Malfoy Manor. Hermione wasn’t scared or uncomfortable, but there was a little bit of trepidation returning to the site of the most painful moment of her life. The manor wasn’t her concern, though. Draco said his mother spent most of her days at their house in Paris, so even she wouldn’t be there to make snide remarks about the Mudblood. No, there was only one thing that worried Hermione.

_What if his son doesn’t like me?_

Which wasn’t an unreasonable notion. Everyone made Scorpius sound like a sweet kid, but the idea of a lovable little Malfoy was completely foreign. All of Draco’s friends were very protective of his son, and Hermione had a feeling that if Scorpius didn’t like her, well, that would be the end of their relationship, fake or otherwise.

Hermione Flooed to Malfoy Manor. (Given his aversion to it, Hermione was surprised Draco had the manor connected to Floo network at all.) As she stepped out of the fireplace and into the parlor, there was no sound to accompany the dying green flames behind her. It was a lonely silence, but as she took in the various greens and greys of the room around her, Hermione realized she was not, in fact, alone.

A small child stared at her from the couch facing the fireplace. Either someone had used a Time-Turner to find baby Draco, or this was Malfoy’s son. His hair was spiked back and his cheeks hadn’t hollowed out yet, but the child had Draco’s grey eyes, white-blond hair, and even Draco’s regal posture.

“Are you Granger?” the child asked. Hermione’s mouth fell open because he even sounded like Draco did as a child. It was strange to hear her name in that voice again.

“I am,” she smiled, “but you can call me Hermione. What’s your name?”

“Score-pus,” he replied. Hermione laughed and set his present down on a nearby stool.

“Scorpius. And how old are you?”

He held up four fingers.

“Four? That’s amazing. Where is your father, little Malfoy?”

“Looking for me,” Scorpius replied. He got up from the couch and walked to Hermione, clutching a candy cane to his chest. He raised his arms in the universal gesture for “pick me up” and Hermione obliged him. Once he rested comfortably on her hip, he said,

“Father thinks you’re pretty.”

Hermione giggled as Scorpius tugged on one of her curls.

“Does he now?”

“Says Miss Mione is pretty and smart and too good for Min-stry.”

“What’s that?”

“Min-stry of Magic,” Scorpius repeated. “Father talks about you a lot. Miss Mione so pretty, so brill-yant, says he is under-serving but I don’t know what that means.”

_Undeserving?_

“Ma crotte!” Hermione heard Draco shout from a nearby room. “Scorp?! Where are you?!”

Hermione opened her mouth to yell back, but Scorpius pressed his candy cane to her lips.

“Shhh!”

Hermione smiled and shuffled Scorpius further up against her hip.

“Father misses you, but ‘m not s’posed to say that,” Scorpius said. “I like when he spends time with Miss Mione because I visit Grandmother and she gives me more sweets. Or Uncle Blaise and he makes me cake.”

“He makes the best cake, doesn’t he?” Hermione said. Scorpius nodded vociferously and Hermione laughed. This child had already stolen her heart and Draco wasn’t getting it back.

“What kind of cake does he make you?” she asked.

“Chocolate,” Scorpius replied.

“Ah, I’ll have to try that next. He only makes me lemon—” Hermione stopped when she noticed Draco standing in the parlor doorway looking like he’d just seen a Boggart.

“He found us, little Malfoy,” Hermione whispered conspiratorially to Scorpius. The child wrapped his arms around her neck and burrowed his face in her shoulder.

“No!”

Draco hadn’t moved and Hermione’s heart suddenly felt very exposed. She was holding Draco’s child, his world, in her arms and she didn’t want to let go. Ginny was right, after all, and Draco held the upper hand … Yet for some reason he appeared rather vexed.

Hermione hugged Scorpius a little tighter.

“Hi,” she smiled weakly. Draco still didn’t move. “I, uh, I’ve just been having a little chat with Scorpius here and he says you owe him some sweets,” Hermione said.

“Do I now?” Draco said, finally coming back to reality. “Because I am fairly sure I said you only get candy if we were here in time to greet Hermione.”

“I was here!” Scorpius whined.

“That’s true, he was,” Hermione said as Draco ventured into the room. “I’m afraid you’re too late, this one’s my favourite Malfoy now,” Hermione insisted.

“Damn,” Draco sighed jokingly. “Just when I thought I was getting good at this.”

“Miss Mione likes me better,” Scorpius raised his head off Hermione’s shoulder and stuck his tongue out at his Father.

“Well Scorp here,” he peeled his son off Hermione and sat him on the ground, “needs to go put on his jacket.”

Scorpius started to walk away but turned around and held up his candy cane.

“Miss Mione,” he said, “is for you. Mother said sweets are the best way to make friends.”

Everything about the room stopped at the mention of his mother. Draco’s breath caught in his chest and Hermione went still. Eventually her fingers moved to grab the proffered candy cane, but she didn’t remember telling them to. Scorpius walked out of the parlor to wherever his coat was, completely unaware he’d disrupted the mood. Draco looked back to make sure Scorpius was out of earshot before saying,

“I … I didn’t know he remembered that.” He wiped his eyes and Hermione stared at the floor.

“He’s adorable,” Hermione said, fiddling with the candy cane. “He seems very much like I imagine you must’ve been when you were little.”

“He’s not,” Draco insisted.

“Spoiled and devious, with a flair for the dramatic?”

“Okay, he is,” Draco conceded. “But while he’s gone, may I be honest about something?”

“Of course,” Hermione insisted.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

_Oh._

“I don’t want to pretend that I am not in love with you, Hermione Granger,” Draco admitted.

_Oh._

“When I saw you holding my son just now, I realized that’s what this is; I’m in love with you. I brought you here because when you were defending me to Weasley you said I’d shown you every part of my life and that wasn’t quite true. It has become more and more difficult to separate what is real between us from what isn’t.

“Even if there is a chance you could ever feel the way about me as I feel about you, I refuse to bring anyone into my life that won’t be part of my son’s.” Draco swallowed hard. “After Astoria died … Blaise and Dean were going to adopt him if I didn’t get my shit together. Hermione, my son is the only part of Astoria I have left, and I love him more than anything in the world.”

“Okay, so, just … give me a second to process that,” Hermione demanded, holding up a hand. She felt a little dizzy, not terribly sure she heard him correctly. Everything after “I am in love with you” was kind of static white noise.

_Holy shit. He’s in love with me. It’s only been two weeks—maybe three? Why doesn’t it feel as crazy as it sounds? What is real versus what isn’t? It’s all been real. This lie has been more real, more fulfilling than anything I’ve done in the past five years._

“Romilda said something to me the other day, that I’ve been thinking about. The reason I felt so alone is that I still love Ron and he has never been worth it. I thought he was, but then you came into my life and you were so gentle. You were all the things I needed Ron to be, but that he never was. You showed me everything I’m worth, which I’d started to forget. I was so caught up in making it look like we had a good relationship that until now I didn’t realize I actually want one.”

“A good relationship?” he asked.

“I want a good relationship _with you._ ”

“Oh.”

Hermione wilted. Of all the things she expected Draco to say or do, “Oh” was not one of them. Quite frankly, she was hoping he’d kiss her again now that Scorpius was gone. She shuffled awkwardly as Draco seemed to completely disassociate. She stuffed her hands into her coat pockets and waited for him to say something.

_Anything._

But then Scorpius was there, one gloved hand impatiently pulling on the hem of Draco’s sweater.

“Let’s go!”

“Where are we going?” Hermione asked.

“To build snowman!” Scorpius shouted, running toward the door.

Hermione laughed. She threw on her coat and Draco grabbed his from where he’d thrown it over a chair in another room. When he returned, he grabbed Hermione’s hand and led her out to the garden. While he hadn’t said anything, Hermione hoped the gesture signaled some sort of acquiescence. It was like her admission was unexpected, like he assumed everything had been an act on her part.

_It’s like he believes it’s impossible for me to love him back._

“You said you missed building snowmen and Christmas dinners, so that’s my grand plan for the day,” Draco finally said, pointing to a pile of snowmen material.

_He remembered!_

Hermione was still a little floored by Draco’s admission, but she was happy to help Scorpius roll the giant snowball they would use for the snowman’s bottom third. He was just a hair over two feet tall, so Hermione did most of the work. Once it was where Scorpius wanted, he was clearly running the show, they rolled the second together and Scorpius took to rolling the head by himself. Draco hoisted it on top of the body and the three of them stood back to admire their only-slightly-lopsided snowman. Draco grabbed two large sticks and stuck them into the sides of the snowman’s middle.

“Scorp, pick out some buttons—”

He was cut off as a snowball pelted him in the shoulder. He looked over, eyebrows raised, and Scorpius pointed a finger at Hermione.

“MISS MIONE DID IT!”

“Tattletale,” Hermione said and stuck out her tongue at him. Draco smiled that devious smile and Hermione knew she was in for it.

“Are we really doing this, Granger?” he teased and withdrew his wand from his coat pocket. Hermione nodded and suddenly five snowballs sprang up from the snow in front of Draco. Hermione was able to dodge the first four, but the fifth caught her right on the backside.

“Now I know where you’re looking, Malfoy!” Hermione teased.

“No shame in it,” Draco shrugged.

Hermione was about to say something when Draco was hit by a snowball that barely made it to his knee. They both turned to see Scorpius, already working on his second one. Draco packed some snow and wound up, but Hermione jumped in front of Scorpius to take the blow.

“Miss Mione saved me!” Scorpius shouted. He threw himself overtop of Hermione and said, “Thank you, Miss Mione!”

Hermione stood up and took Scorpius with her. She held him with one arm and packed a snowball with the other. She threw it at Draco, who dodged it, but Scorpius got him again. Scorpius clapped in jubilation and Hermione couldn’t hold back a giggle.

“Little Malfoy is kicking your arse, Draco!”

Draco hit Hermione in the stomach with a snowball and Hermione retaliated with a shot to his shoulder. Draco waved his wand and formed five more snowballs. One got Scorpius, three got Hermione, and the last, well …

“You decap-ted my snowman!” Scorpius shouted in dismay. It was true, their lopsided snowman had become a lopsided snow corpse. Hermione sat Scorpius down and said,

“Roll another head, Little Malfoy!”

As Scorpius dutifully went to work rolling up a ball that was nearly the size of his entire body, Hermione snuck up behind Draco and stuffed a pile of snow down the back of his coat. Draco yelped and did a weird jig before falling to the ground and pulling Hermione with him.

Draco landed on top of Hermione and she couldn’t resist taking his face in her cold, gloved hands, and pulling him in for a kiss. Draco was pretty into it considering snow was melting down his back. This kiss was different. Perhaps it was because Hermione initiated it or because Draco finally revealed just how deep his feelings were, but he nipped eagerly at Hermione’s lower lip before sliding his tongue into her mouth. Hermione put a hand on the back of his head to pull him closer, and she wanted the rest of him closer, too. Her knees clamped around his sides and her free hand felt its way down his back and if it could’ve reached his bum well she would’ve pulled that closer, too.

They were lying on top of snow, but every part of Hermione was very warm. Draco’s kisses were feverish and _loving_. Then a snowball hit the back of Draco’s head.

“Dammit, Scorp!” Draco shouted back playfully. “I’m busy!”

“Stop kissing Miss Mione, I need help with snowman!”

Draco groaned and then smiled at Hermione. (A smile that said, “We’ll pick this up later.”) He picked up Scorpius’s new snowman head and placed it atop the body. He pointed to the small pile and said,

“Pick three buttons, Scorp.”

It took him ages to decide on the perfect three. Draco spent the minutes recounting the time Blaise made the mistake of asking whether Scorpius wanted chocolate or strawberry cake. They’d rapidly come to the realization it was best not to present him options.

Finally, he picked out three buttons: red, gold, and green. Draco lifted him up to stick the buttons in the snowman’s middle. Draco wrapped the scarf around the snowman’s neck while Hermione placed the coal eyes and mouth. Scorpius was a little enthusiastic with the carrot nose and stuck it so far through the face that it nearly came out the back. After a good laugh, Draco placed a beanie on top as the final touch.

“As fun as you remember, Granger?” Draco asked.

“Strangely enough, even better,” Hermione admitted.

**.oOo.**

The house-elves had outdone themselves with a quasi-Christmas dinner, not in its extravagance but in its homely quality. There was turkey and mashed potatoes and green beans and everything Hermione never had time to cook. Instead of eating in the dining room at a table which sat twenty, they ate at one of the tables in the manor library.

Scorpius, between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes, pointed out his favourite books. They were picture books in both English and French (“Beauxbatons is a fine school,” Draco mentioned.), and Scorpius was very proud to know when each book was written, even if he didn’t comprehend the numbers.

After they finished dessert, Hermione realized she hadn’t given Scorpius his present. Draco had one of the house-elves bring it up. It was the most nervous Hermione had been the entire day. The sun had set and this would be the last thing she would do before leaving their insulated world and returning to life at the IMC.

“Little Malfoy, when your father and I went out to lunch a couple weeks ago, he mentioned that you like books. Well, I love books, and had this on my shelf. I think you’ll have more fun with it than me,” Hermione said. She placed the box on the table in front of Scorpius because it was much too heavy for him to carry.

Scorpius shredded the wrapping paper, popped the lid off the box, and his eyes went wide.

_I know that look._

“If you don’t mind me asking, Granger, why the hell did you have _A Fully Illustrated History of the Flying Carpet_ on your bookshelf?” Draco asked. Hermione shrugged in response.

“Because it’s pretty.”

Scorpius was still staring at it, gingerly touching the cover. It was an updated edition; a thick, rectangular book covered in vibrant colours. There were various blue, purple, and orange hues to go along with gold-leafed pages. He opened the cover so reverently that Hermione clutched at her chest, seeing a lot of herself in the small gesture. He flipped through the pages, pausing to stare at the moving pictures.

He slid off his chair and motioned for Hermione to pick him up. She did and Scorpius threw his arms around her neck.

“Thank you, Miss Mione,” he whispered.

“Oh, you’re welcome, Little Malfoy,” she replied. Scorpius yawned.

“I like you. It’s okay if you kiss my father.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide and she looked at Draco, whose expression was a mix between adoration and disconcerted. Then she laughed.

_I love this kid._

“Well, thank you for giving me permission,” she replied. “I will put it to good use. I think, though, it’s time for you to go to sleep.”

Scorpius nodded and Hermione handed him off to Draco.

“Oi, what are you whispering to Hermione about, Scorp? You two have secrets now?”

Hermione made her way down to the parlor as Draco put Scorpius to bed. That felt like much too intimate a moment to intrude upon. She threw on her coat and thought about what Draco said earlier.

 _“I_ _refuse to bring anyone into my life that won’t be part of my son’s,” but I like his son. I like him a lot and this was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Draco remembered what I missed, and he gave it to me. How am I supposed to thank him? I don’t know how. I don’t know what he wants from me, I don’t know how to give it to him, and I sure as hell don’t want this to end._

Draco found her a half hour later.

“I thought you’d still be in the library,” he said. Hermione shook her head.

“It’s probably best I go, the world doesn’t keep itself together, you know.”

“I know,” Draco smiled as he wrapped his arms around her waist, beneath her coat. Hermione rested her forehead on his chest. His sweater was green and he was wearing jeans, which made him seem more like a father and less like every other member of his family she’d ever met. He just looked so much like a father.

_And I’m glad he showed me just how much of an amazing father he is. I understand so much more about him now, and he’s right to make Scorpius his world. I don’t have to compete with his memory of Astoria, I can complement it. There’s no pressure here, there’s nothing uncomfortable, only … Only love._

Hermione melted a little bit into Draco’s embrace and she would’ve been content to stay just like that for hours.

“I meant what I said,” Hermione insisted. “I want you to be my boyfriend. I want to spend time with you and your son, and I want to keep feeling so incredibly happy.”

Draco didn’t say anything for awhile, just held onto Hermione pensively. He sighed then laughed.

“I suppose Dean won’t be the only trophy boyfriend in the group,” Draco teased. “For now, at least. Until Thursday,” Draco amended.

“What’s on Thursday?”

“Come to lunch and find out,” he teased. “What was Scorp whispering to you about?”

Hermione smiled and stood on her tiptoes.

“This,” she said before lightly pressing their lips together.

Though it wasn’t light for long. Draco let go of Hermione only to shrug her coat off her shoulders. As it fell to the ground, Hermione shoved her hands into the back pockets of Draco’s jeans.

“I love that kid,” he said, and Hermione laughed, burying her face in his sweater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been improperly capitalizing "house-elf" this entire time. #TheMoreYouKnow
> 
> Comments and criticism are always appreciated. You can find me on Tumblr [here](http://www.queenofstarkness.tumblr.com). Thank you all again for such nice feedback so far. I hope this fluff continues to make you smile.


	8. Chapter 8: December 14th/17th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, a proposal (but not the one you want), Romilda being Romilda, and the heart-to-heart Hermione didn't know she needed.

_This is not my bed._

_These are not my pillows, these are not my sheets …_

Hermione’s first burst of consciousness was far too comfortable.

“Morning, Granger!” Draco called from the doorway. Hermione groaned.

“Oh, God, you’re a morning person.” He said something Hermione didn’t quite hear and she threw a pillow at him. “Shut up!” Hermine sat upright and yawned. “What time is it?”

“Seven.”

“Merlin’s pants!” Hermione wiped the little crusties from the corners of her eyes. “What kind of monster wakes up at seven?”

“The four-year-old kind,” Draco shrugged.

Hermione rested her elbows on her knees, face in her hands, and started mumbling.

“I need ... I need …”

“Pancakes?” Draco guessed.

“Shower! Shower first, then pancakes.”

Hermione finally opened her eyes to see Draco leaning against the bedroom door frame. She suddenly felt very conscious of her tangled, frizzy hair, the awful taste in her mouth, and the fact that her clothes (all of them) were neatly folded at the foot of the bed. Draco was already impeccably dressed and smiling much wider than anyone should smile at seven o’clock in the morning.

“You’re cute when you’re grumpy,” Draco teased. Hermione glared in reply.

“So…” Hermione said, realizing she’d need to change at home before going to work. “I guess we’ll figure it out and do this better next time.”

“I thought we did it pretty good this time,” Draco said lecherously.

“No, I meant—hah. I’ll get better at that too, but—why are you dressed all nice?”

“Oh,” Draco looked down at himself as if he’d only just become aware he was ridiculously overdressed for breakfast. “Scorp and I are doing a thing with Dean today which must remain in the strictest confidence.”

“But you told your four-year-old?” Hermione asked skeptically.

“Scorpius would sooner give away all of his books than betray Dean’s confidence, Granger. He’s a Slytherin and we value loyalty. Dean is his, quote, ‘favourite person in the world.’”

“So you won’t tell me why you look all spiffy?”

“No, but I do want you to come to lunch on Thursday, if you can. I know it is another thing for me, but—”

“I like doing things for you.”

“And I appreciate that, but we should focus on next week and on you impressing the committee. I don’t want to detract from that, but Thursday will be quite a moment and I need you there so I can enjoy it.”

“I don’t understand,” Hermione replied.

“That’s because it’s seven in the morning. Shower and, I dunno, come up with an excuse for Scorpius why you’re still here.”

“I got lost in your mansion?” Hermione offered.

“Plausible,” Draco shrugged. “Now hurry up, there may be bacon!”

**.oOo.**

Regardless of how many times Hermione asked Draco why she was going to lunch in Modena, he never gave her a complete answer. Scorpius in tow, they arrived a tad early to Blaise’s flagship restaurant, Zucchero, hidden in a nondescript tan building across from the Ducal Palace. Draco said Blaise decided to come back to Modena because he hated being stuck in England after the war. When he arrived, the chefs and restaurants he knew as a child were gone. Becoming a chef was just as much about clinging to his past as it was honouring the memory of those who took care of him while his mother was, shall we say, “otherwise engaged.”

This place was perfectly suited to Blaise, it made sense to Hermione that he would be from somewhere so classic and quiet. The brown and burnt orange hues to the buildings complemented the light blue winter sky. It was peaceful, and Hermione hadn’t felt that sense of calm in a long while. Draco opened the door for her, bypassed the maître d, and led Hermione back to a private dining room.

The first thing she noticed was Dean at the head of the table and Blaise to his right. He looked angry and uncomfortable. Draco, however, didn’t seem to care and lifted Scorpius into the high chair at the corner between himself and Dean. The chair had Scorpius’s name written on the back in silver letters, and Hermione started to understand how intertwined their family really was.  

Dean did not get up to give anyone a hug, which was very out-of-character. He didn’t greet anyone and neither did Blaise, both of them sitting in a silent standoff. Draco took it all on, saying hi, making the rounds, and ensuring Scorpius didn’t spill anything. Katie arrived shortly after them with Pansy, Theo and Zoe with their partners minutes later. Hermione felt awkward, like something had gone wrong and Draco’s decision to bring her was a mistake. She hadn’t told Katie yet about, well, anything that’d happened at the manor. Perhaps Ginny filled her in, though, because she winked at Hermione when Draco wasn’t looking.

They made it through the appetizer and the entrée before the meal headed south. Blaise started yelling at the staff for mundane things like overfilling the wine glasses and “poor plating technique.” After Dean told him to stop, Blaise angrily muttered some Italian expletives into his dessert.

Dean had a determined look and Draco nodded at him as if to say, “Do it now.” Dean took a deep breath, grabbed Scorpius and plopped the little Malfoy into his lap. He held onto Scorpius like a security blanket because beneath that determined exterior, his eyes betrayed underlying trepidation.

“Most of you don’t know this,” Dean said, getting the attention of the table, “but two years ago I asked Blaise to marry me.” Blaise sank further into his seat, embarrassed. “When you love each other, you get married, right? Tell them what you told me, Blaise,” Dean insisted. Blaise shook his head and covered his face with one hand. Dean kicked him and he sighed.

“I said I didn’t want to do it just to do it.”

“Which is bullshit, but I let it go. I look at all of you and see love as something that must be really loud,” Dean said. “Like you’re shouting at each other how much you love the other one. Blaise and I have never been like that, so I thought maybe I shouldn’t ask again. Maybe what we have just … isn’t enough.”

“Dean, what the hell,” Blaise hissed, “we don’t need to talk about his here!”

“Shut up, Zabini, you’re going to want to hear this,” Draco insisted. Blaise looked like he may very well strangle Draco later on, but acquiesced as Dean continued.

“So I started imagining life away from you. What would it be like kissing someone else? Could I feel safe with someone else? How could I ever be for them what I try to be for you? I realized my world without you is terrifying and no matter who I try to put in your place, it always comes back to you. I’m all in, Blaise.”

Blaise had a white-knuckle grip on the table. It was as though an invisible wall had been placed between the two of them and the rest of the table. Hermione could not tear her eyes away as Blaise became increasingly aware of where the moment was headed.

“I spent awhile trying to reconcile that. Our love doesn’t look like everyone else’s, but I have no place in this world without you in it. Draco, here, is rebuilding his love and I am still stuck staring at ours trying to figure out what it is. I don’t even know if you think it is real.”

Blaise didn’t answer at first. Scorpius wriggled in Dean’s arms, conscious of the awkward shift in mood. No one said anything as Blaise stared at Dean, wordlessly pleading with him not to force an answer.

“Of course it’s real!” Blaise eventually shouted so loudly the waitress refilling Pansy’s glass yelped and sloshed water onto the table. “I would empty my Gringotts vault to make you happy, Dean Thomas, you would only need to ask. That candle is never going to smell like anything except grass, sweat, and that stupid mint shampoo you use because you know it smells good.”

Dean seemed to forget what he’d been about to say as his jaw, quite literally, dropped. Hermione wondered if Blaise ever told Dean which scents made up his Amortentia. Judging by the watery buildup in the corners of Dean’s eyes, she guessed not. Scorpius poked Dean’s chest and said,

“Quiet, Uncle Dean. Like we prac-tissed.”

Dean hugged him a little tighter.

“I’ve always been loud, a little overbearing, so it’s odd that my love for you is quiet. But it is always there, Blaise. I love when you show up at our door with flour in your hair and that your kisses taste like honey because Merlin forbid you go a day without using it in something. I love that you complain every time I go away for the weekend because you’re going to miss me. I love that the moment I suggested we take Scorp in, you were right there with me, on the same page in every way.”

This was part of Dean’s life, part of Katie’s, but Hermione was still very new and felt she should have been kept on the outside. She whispered to Draco that she wanted to leave, but Draco placed a hand on her shoulder to say,  _Stay._  Blaise struggled to keep it together, his jaw repeatedly clenching and unclenching as Dean kept going.

“My love for you is quiet because there is a certain kind of peace only you can give me. I love the way you look at me like you expect me to be here. I like that you trust me to be here when you need me because that’s all I ever want to be. I touch you and the world stops turning, I kiss you and I can’t breathe, and I hope I do the same for you.”

Blaise’s better angels won out, and once the tears started flowing they couldn’t stop. Hermione thought back to how confident and suave he was in the kitchen, at his home, and how he’d always been this enigmatic, ethereal sort of person. She never thought he was capable of appearing this vulnerable, and yet …

“You do, of course you do, and I am so sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise.” He wiped away his tears with a shirtsleeve and huffed angrily. “Why did you have to do this now?”

“Because we’ve been together four years and I want to do it now! Otherwise you’re going to leave me for another man down the line and I’m selfish enough to do anything to prevent that from happening.”

“You will die, Dean! Is that what you wanted me to admit right here in front of all our friends? Yes, one day you will die and I love you so much it will break me. Irreparably. I have watched eight Zabini husbands die—it’s all they ever do! I don’t want that for you. I love you so much it’s terrifying and ... and how … I don’t know.” Blaise shook his head. “I don’t know how to do this right, I never learned how to do it.”

Dean placed his hands over Scorpius’s ears for a moment and said,

“I want what they have!” He nodded toward the rest of the table. “Goddammit, Blaise, why won’t you give it to me?! I’m not trying to shame you into it, I just want to understand why everything I am and what I’ve done isn’t enough.”

“It is not about you! You saw what Draco was like when we found him!” Blaise shouted in response. “That’s going to be me, and there is no Hermione for me, Dean. There is no second chance, no fitting someone else into my life or me fitting into theirs, this is it.”

“Oh, okay, um … I had a whole second half prepared but you kind of just …” Dean stumbled all over his prepared remarks. “You never said anything …” Dean took a deep breath and steadied himself. He looked at the one person in the room he knew was rooting for him.

“Scorpius, who is your favourite godfather?”

“You are,” Scorpius said as he placed a hand on Dean’s chest.

“And who is your prettiest godfather?” Dean asked.

Scorpius pointed at Blaise.

“That’s right, Scorp. He is the most beautiful person on the planet. I don’t know if he will love me even when I’m old and fat from all the cake he feeds me. But I’ll love him then, I love him now, and I’ll love him every moment in between. I am pretty sure that is what marriage is supposed to be. So, Scorp, would you give Blaise his present?”

Scorpius held out his hand, palm-up, one gold engagement band sitting on top. Blaise just stared at it for several seconds and everyone around the table shifted uncomfortably because he took so long. Dean looked at the rest of the party and said,

“I just want everyone to know that if you say yes, I am going to do my best to be worthy of it.” He returned his gaze to Blaise. “And I want you to know that I will do everything I can to make sure that every second you spend with me is worth the pain of living after I’m gone.”

“How am I supposed to believe you won’t end up dead early on like every Zabini husband I’ve ever known?” Blaise asked desperately. Dean only laughed and pleaded,

“Marry me and find out, you fucking idiot!”

“Okay,” Blaise nodded.

“Yeah?” Dean smiled.

Blaise plucked the ring out of Scorpius’s hand and slid it down his left ring finger. Next thing anyone knew, both Dean and Blaise were standing and Blaise had pulled Dean in for a kiss by his shirt collar. While everyone else was stunned, Scorpius threw his arms around Dean’s neck and shouted,

“UNCLE DEAN IS GETTING MARRY!!”

Then everyone melted. Draco got up to pull Blaise off Dean and give him a hug. He muttered something into Blaise’s ear, which Hermione was determined to ask about later. She held back just then, not wanting to intrude on the gaggle of hugs happening at the head of the table. Hermione wondered if this is what it would be like when Draco got married again.

At the moment, Draco was overjoyed. His face was alight with joy like Hermione had never seen on him. The only person more excited than Draco was his son, who clapped his hands and beamed up at Blaise. While everyone else was wrapped up in their own conversations, Scorpius put his hands on Blaise’s cheeks and said,

“Thank you for making Uncle Dean happy.”

_Draco is raising such a great kid. This is a community I certainly never had. Scorpius has every reason to hate the world that took his mother away and, from everything I’ve heard, nearly took his father, too. Four-year-olds are the most shamelessly honest people on the planet, and the only thing Scorpius wants is for people to be happy. Well, that and more books. Who doesn’t love a kid like that?_

_When I look at Scorpius, I see everything Draco never was and everything he’s trying to be now._

_Oh my God._

_I’m in love with Draco Malfoy._

**.oOo.**

Hermione Disapparated from the celebration unnoticed. Once she arrived back at work, though, she found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Lunch was far too ... too …

_Too much too fast. We’ve been dating less than a month, less than a week, neither of us should have fallen so far. There’s no reason to bring me to a proposal. And what did Blaise mean when he said, “There is no Hermione for me?” This is too real to be fake and too fast to be real._

“Miss Granger?” Romilda asked, stepping into Hermione’s office. “Not to intrude, but I think you should take the rest of the day off.”

“Why?”

“Well, I needed to send the performance evaluations to Penelope and instead you handed me the report on that incident with the Bulgarian Quidditch team. That, and you spelled Quidditch, K-w-i-d-d—“

“Yes, yes,” Hermione threw her hands in the air and grabbed her coat.

“Did something happen at lunch?” Romilda asked.

“It was a personal event Draco shouldn’t have taken me to,” Hermione huffed.

“Oh,” Romilda surmised, “so you two finally—“

“Yes! Yes, we did, and I’m starting to think this was a very bad idea.”

“Why? What happened?”

“He was a little skittish the past few days and it turns out he was planning a proposal for his friend, and he took me. We are just moving so fast and all I do is take from him. Draco does everything he can to help me and I am nothing for him. It’s not fair, it’s not right, it’s—“

“Slow your roll, there, Hermione. You’re counting your owls before all the letters have been delivered. Here’s what’s going to happen: I will address each of your concerns and then you will go home to think about what you want to do next. You finally got to take a ride on the Malfoy Express and Draco trying to incorporate you into his life is scary for you. I understand. Take a deep breath and listen to what I have to say.”

Hermione did just that and nodded for her to continue.

“First, I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a proposal without a date, but everyone there is very conscious of who is and is not paired off. I’ve been on the unfortunate side of that a few times and my guess is Draco was happy not to be alone. Maybe the only way for him to really enjoy the moment was to have you there.

“Second, you’re not moving as quickly as you think. Early on, time in relationships is spent weeding out secrets and getting to know each other. You two have known each other for years and you’ve seen Draco’s greatest shame. He trusts you with his son. What more do the two of you need to know about each other before it’s okay to fall in love?

“Finally, I think you’re doing more for Draco than you realize. Katie says his focus is on his son, but to be a good father he needs to be happy. I don’t know Draco all that well, but my guess is he still doubts he is worthy of forgiveness or redemption. You give that to him, you make him feel like he can move forward, and your love proves that he can be a good man.

“Don’t ever doubt your importance, Hermione,” Romilda insisted. “Now go home, relax, and remember that it is not fast if it’s eighteen years in the making.”

**.oOo.**

Romilda Vane was a good person. Hermione knew she had the best executive assistant in the Ministry, because Romilda gave honest advice. Advice employers didn’t always want to hear, so she was fired twice before landing in Hermione’s lap. But Hermione knew the prescription was exactly what she needed.

_There’s a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey in the cupboard by the—_

As Hermione kicked her shoes off, she caught sight of a familiar blond head in her front window. She grabbed her wand, waved the door open, and started shouting.

“Of course you’d be here!” she said as she unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. “I just want some time to think,” she pulled on a pair of track pants, “and you show up!” She pulled her shirt over her head and grabbed a Hogwarts sweatshirt off the couch. Once she poked her head through the top she said, “I can’t concentrate when you’re around.”

Draco was staring at her from a few metres away, the door still open behind him. Hermione waved it shut.

“You can’t concentrate? Am I supposed to pay attention to anything you say while you are undressing in front of me?”

“Draco, it’s been three days,” Hermione admonished.

“Nearly four!” Draco complained. “I’m twenty-nine, Hermione, not dead.”

“Well if that’s why you’re here you may as well leave now.”

Draco took a few tentative steps toward here, like he was confused and unsure what she expected of him.

“I am here because I don’t like when you leave without saying good-bye.”

There was an undertone to his words that sent a shiver of regret down her spine. She sat on the arm of the couch and apologized. As Draco walked closer, he said,

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice the second you were gone?”

“I hoped you wouldn’t,” Hermione admitted. “I felt like you made a mistake bringing me somewhere so personal. I thought you would have a better time without me.”

“Hermione, you have got to stop assuming I will act like him.”

“Like who?”

“Like Weasley!” Draco shouted before he closed his eyes and sighed, trying to calm down. “I don’t know how he treated you while you were dating or when you were married, but I want to be around you because I like you.

“I wanted you there today because I am in love with you and to truly appreciate the moment, I needed you by my side. However, it was also to prove a point to Blaise. The first time Dean asked Blaise to marry him, I was preparing for Astoria’s death. Blaise is incapable of separating that from love—I am sure you heard the stories about his mother. Blaise only ever saw her murder one, but after that it wasn’t difficult to determine what happened to the other seven. Dean never had a good opportunity to ask again until you came along.”

“What did Blaise mean when he said, ‘There’s no Hermione for me?’” she asked.

“I am in love and so unbelievably happy about it,” Draco smiled. “Blaise can’t imagine anyone being for him what you are for me, and he’s right. You are a fucking miracle, Hermione. You know me, you’ve forgiven me, and my son likes you. You’re not threatened by my love for Astoria and you found a way to fit into my life.

“Instead of seeing something missing, Blaise got to see me happy again. That’s why he said yes—you are a reminder for him that happiness is its own risk and Dean is worth it.”

Hermione sniffled into her sleeve and crossed her arms, suddenly very anxious.

“I didn’t realize that’s what you think of me,” she admitted.

“I think the world of you,” Draco replied. “However, I don’t think anything you have said is the real reason you left. You told me that day in your office, that Weasley has made you afraid, he’s turned you into Blaise. I think you took one look at how happy everyone was, realized you were part of it, and got scared.”

_How could he know that?_

“It can’t last,” Hermione sobbed. “You’ll take it away, just like he did.”

Draco wrapped his arms around Hermione and let her cry.

“I promise you I will never do that.”

Hermione hiccupped and Draco placed a hand on the nape of her neck to soothe her.

“I believe you,” she said. “And you know what? I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She said the thing!! 
> 
> Backstory I couldn't fit in: Dean is Scorpius's favourite person because when he was with them Blaise was away a lot so Dean was his primary care provider. Also, Dean is like four inches taller than Blaise and Draco so when Dean picks Scorpius up, to him it's like climbing a skyscraper. Draco was dressed nicely on Monday because they were going to pick out the engagement ring. I'm not sure if we know how many husbands Ms Zabini had, but I went with eight, not including Blaise's father to whom she was never married. When Blaise was seven, he saw his mother push husband #3 off a balcony. Didn't really think that was appropriate for a Christmas story because it's supposed to be fluffy.
> 
> As always, comments and criticism are appreciated.


	9. Chapter IX: December 17th/23rd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rita Skeeter ruins everything.

Sitting in front of her fireplace, Draco and Hermione sat on opposite ends of the couch in an awkward silence. Neither of them had said a word since Hermione’s admission. The only sound was the fire crackling, and the flat darkened around them as day turned to dusk.

“Where’s your son?” Hermione asked. It seemed like the safest question.

“With my mother. Pans is preparing to defend a case at the Wizengamot, I love Theo but he’s not allowed to babysit again until Scorp is old enough to differentiate between ‘edible’ and ‘not edible,’ and Blaise and Dean are having too much fun right now to watch over my son.”

“By ‘fun’ you mean—“

“They’re shagging each other’s’ brains out, but I was trying to be subtle.”

The silence returned for a few minutes because what else is there to say after an “I love you?” The funny thing is, Hermione knew exactly when it happened.

_It’s so stupid, there are so many times I knew we would end up here; that I knew I would end up in love with him. Draco told Minister Shacklebolt that I didn’t need anyone to care for me and said he would do it anyway. It was such a little thing, but I need someone to put more into a relationship than I can. That disparity is why Ron and I didn’t work, and why I think this will. My head is in my job; I want to change the world, and it takes a lot to pull me away from that._

_Draco came along and decided I’m worth the extra effort. No one has done that for me before. He found time for me and Scorpius and his friends. I don’t know when I stopped pretending I liked him … Perhaps I never was_.

“They’ll be having much more fun than me this weekend,” Hermione mumbled. She slid across the cushions to lay her head on Draco’s shoulder. “I’ll be searching for houses. Not that you would know, since your family hasn’t looked for a house in three-hundred years.”

“Five-hundred years, Granger. Why are you looking for a new place? This flat is,” he struggled to find words Hermione wouldn’t find offensive, “… fine?” he asked like that may have been the wrong answer. “I thought you would have a small space with a cat and books piled on top of more books. You have one bookshelf in one corner and the rest of the flat is so bare looks like you are never here.”

“Well, I’m not,” Hermione confirmed.

“Why is that?” Draco asked, genuinely curious.

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted. “When we were on the run during the war we hopped from place to place and I just never stopped moving. Every six months I just go to a new place. I don’t like people knowing where I live; I still don’t know how the  _Prophet_  found out.”

“Neither do I, and that concerns me,” Draco muttered. “You need a permanent place where you could feel truly safe.”

“Where would I find a place like that?” Hermione asked.

Draco stared at her intently, a war being waged behind those grey eyes.

“If the thought hasn’t already occurred to you, I think it is best we leave it alone.”

Hermione felt she was missing something obvious, and eventually Draco sighed to confirm it. He practically glowed in the firelight, so still and pale he may well have been carved from marble. When Hermione finally realized what had him so anxious, she cringed internally and asked,

“Were you suggesting I move in with you?”

“No,” Draco denied.

“Then what—“

“Yes, but then you ruined it so I’d just as well live in ignorance of your answer.”

“If I said yes, where would I go when I’m upset with you?” Hermione asked. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Nowhere, Hermione, that’s the point! You stay and we talk about it. Just like today, your solution is always to run away because you don’t think any good can come from a disagreement. If you had just let me explain why I wanted you there, you would have understood and stayed. You are the most headstrong, determined person I have ever met, but you have to listen to me sometimes!”

“Okay, so sell me,” Hermione demanded, lifting her head from his shoulder. “Sell me on the idea of moving in with you. Plead your case.”

Draco turned to look at her and Hermione regretted everything from the moment he sat down at her table in Rosa Lee’s. The look on his face was the same after dinner at Blaise’s house, one of unbridled happiness mixed with skepticism and reticence. Hermione could almost see his heart in his eyes, but Draco was so afraid to give this much of himself away. Fluctuating between those extremes, Hermione believed they would both be better off if she had stayed away. Draco finally said,

“Perhaps it is ridiculous to think of the manor as a place you could ever feel safe. It is home for me, but considering our past there … Maybe it can never be that way for you. As my girlfriend, I consider you family. That has always been more important to me than anything else, at times to your detriment.”

He did it again; the thing where he forgot he was speaking and he got lost in a memory. Hermione knew exactly which one, and the haunted look in Draco’s eyes did not disappear once he spoke again.

“I have not thought about how far this relationship will go, and I would guess you haven’t either because you’re scared.”

“Why aren’t you?” Hermione asked, prompting a rather dark chuckle from Draco.

“I am frightened of many things. I am terrified of losing Scorpius most of all, and other things tend to fade in comparison. I am quite afraid he won’t want to be a Malfoy when he gets older because of the terrible shit my father and I did to tarnish that name. I am afraid of forgetting about Astoria—what if Scorp asks me questions about her I can’t remember how to answer? Of course, I am frightened of losing my friends and still quite nervous Blaise will break off the engagement because he’s scared.

“All that said, there are less rational fears to handle. Some part of me is terrified the Dark Lord will return. He was never kind to our family, and once we fell out of favour it became so much worse. Sometimes I walk through the manor and can’t help but remember all the things he did to me; I would do anything to keep those things from happening to my son.”

“We watched Voldemort die, Draco,” Hermione insisted. Draco turned to her and said,

“I cannot begin to tell you how little that matters.”

_That’s irrational—but fear isn’t always sane. I never realized he was afraid, too._

“However,” Draco continued, “I am not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of being in love with you or asking you to move in with me or of you eventually letting me go. I can handle all of those things. And, to be indelicate, I liked waking up next to you; I’d like to do it every day. For you, Scorpius and a fairly large library are part of the package.”

“I do love your library and your son. I suppose you are tolerable,” she teased. They both laughed.

“High praise from Miss Granger,” Draco quipped with a smile.

But she didn’t make a decision. Hermione put it off by saying something about “after the selection” and changed the subject. It was nice to be with Draco again.

 _It’s nice to be_ alone _with Draco again._

When she kissed him good-bye the next morning, she wanted to go with him. That tug on her heart scared her more than anything else they’d done.

 **.oOo.**  

The Ministry “retreat” was a large cocktail party for the hiring committee. A last-minute schmooze opportunity disguised in pretty clothes and champagne. Hermione stuffed herself into a navy velvet pencil dress that came to her knees. “Stuffed” because she made the mistake of going shopping with Romilda. (“Yes, Hermione, it is supposed to be that tight!”) Draco wore a light grey, almost silver suit with a dark blue tie and pocket square to perfectly complement Hermione’s ensemble.

_Everything will be fine. I am going to get this job. I am definitely going to get this position. I deserve this position. I can do this. I can totally do this. Not nervous at all. Absolutely not._

Hermione tensed when they walked in, realizing it was impossible to make a discreet entrance on the arm of Draco Malfoy. Fifty pairs of eyes were on them and Hermione’ chest seized up, suddenly unable to feel either her heart or her lungs. She could only breathe once Draco’s hand was on her back, long fingers lightly trailing up and down her spine.

“You okay?” he whispered as they made their way inside the small ballroom.

“I am as okay as anyone can be, walking into a room where the people who hate them outnumber the people who don’t.”

“A perfect summation of my seventh year at Hogwarts,” Draco quipped.

He played around with intimidation while they were in school, where Crabbe and Goyle were his advantage. Draco no longer needed them; he wasn’t playing anymore. Draco had this look on his face like he was trying to suss out everyone who didn’t like Hermione and dare them to come forward. Though he knew hardly anyone there, he appeared to be in complete control of the room. 

Hermione subtly nodded to a jewelry-laden couple several metres away.

“That’s the French Minister for Magic. He hates me because I made the mistake of asking if his wife was his secretary. In my defense, she is fifteen years younger than him,” she said, and Draco had the audacity to fucking giggle. She continued pointing out people in a single rushed breath.

“The German foreign minister there hates me because I spilled coffee on him running into Minister Shacklebolt’s office a couple years ago. Over there is Macy Buttermere who hates me because I freed her house-elf during a dinner party. My Norwegian counterpart loathes me because I fell asleep during his presentation on the illegal importation of yew wood from Sweden.”

“Good Lord, between the two of us I am shocked we are allowed in anywhere,” Malfoy said. Hermione leaned into his side, laughing so hard she nearly fell over. Draco smiled and held onto her waist before he spotted Ron. “Oh, lovely, Weasley’s here. Is there anyone we can expect to talk to this evening or are we meant to bide our time over here in the corner? Not that I am opposed, there are a great many things to be done in dark corners—“

“Shh!” Hermione whacked Draco in the chest as a middle-aged man with brown skin made his way toward them. He was impeccably dressed and his stern demeanor was betrayed by warm brown eyes as he extended his hand to Hermione.

“Director Granger! Is nice to see you again, Hermione,” he greeted her with a thick Spanish accent. Draco instinctively tightened his hold on her waist and pulled her close. Hermione rolled her eyes in annoyance but something low in her abdomen was doing cartwheels.

“It is nice to see you, Minister Vélez. This is my boyfriend—“

“Draco Malfoy!” he said, also offering his hand to Draco with a surprised expression on his face. He whisper-shouted to Hermione, “Quite the improvement.” A blush started to creep its way up Draco’s neck as he shook the minister’s hand.

“Minister Vélez and I met a few years ago,” Hermione said. “He suggested I join him and some colleagues for lunch at a tapas bar. Before I’ve had my first cup of coffee, ‘tapas’ sounds like ‘topless!’ And he was wondering why I had such a negative reaction to small-portioned food!”

Both Hermione and Minister Vélez laughed aloud, and Hermione leaned back into Draco, placing a hand on his chest.

“I was glad to hear Señor McLaggen withdrew his name for consideration,” the minister said, eyeing the gesture with a sly smile.

_Cormac withdrew?_

“I am happy to see you two are not affected by that gossip _mierda_. Hermione here is too good for such nonsense,” he said. “Hermione seems happier than I have ever seen her.”

“Yes, we’re still trying to figure out how we got outed in the _Prophet_ ,” Draco said, offhand.

“Ah, but the rumours about Señora Granger … Of course she too valuable, too … too good to do anything like they say.”

“Rumours? What rumous?” Draco asked, looking pointedly at Hermione. She glanced up at him, equally confused.

“You have not heard!” Minister Vélez said, chastened. “My apologies, the world is better for it. Well, continue on, I won’t keep you tortolitos away from the champagne any longer.”

He bid Hermione good-bye, shook Draco’s hand, and sped off to speak to Minister Shacklebolt. Hermione huffed.

“What is he talking about?” she asked. Hermione felt the eyes on her. Several pairs of eyes were jumping between herself and Draco. She worriedly grabbed his hand and repeated,

“What rumour is Minister Vélez talking about?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said.

_I don’t know and I don’t like not knowing._

They stood in silence for several seconds, neither quite sure what to do. Hermione’s heartbeat quickened the way it does when someone is afraid but not quite sure why. She and Draco had been honest with each other from the beginning, but they had lied to everyone else.

_What does everyone think they know?_

Draco’s fingers tightened around hers as he took note of the more-than-usual pairs of eyes hopping between them. They, of all people, should’ve known the past never stays where you want it. It hovers and haunts in the background until the most inopportune moment.

“Kerry!” Draco shouted, half-dragging Hermione over to the Shacklebolts. The minister’s wife turned to them with a half-hearted smile intended solely for the people around them.

“I didn’t think you would be coming,” Kerry said quietly, “not without an explanation.”

“An explanation for what?” Draco pressed. Mrs. Shacklebolt looked at them quizzically.

“What the hell have you two been doing the past few days?”

One look at their flushed faces gave her the answer. Kerry Shacklebolt rolled her eyes and pulled them away from her husband. She produced Sunday’s copy of _Witch Weekly_ and held it up for them to see.

One look at the magazine cover and Hermione wanted to vomit. It was like she and Draco were standing in a snow globe and someone had given it a great big shake. She was unsteady on her feet and when she searched for Draco’s hand he didn’t hold on. The headline:

 

> **WHORE-mione Granger? Is her love affair with Draco Malfoy a scam?**

Draco’s eyes didn’t move from the cover for several seconds. It was a nice picture of Hermione, Draco, and Scorpius in the garden at Malfoy Manor. The pair of them stood close together while Scorpius rummaged through a small pile of buttons. Draco’s arm was around Hermione’s shoulders, her lips red and puffy from some combination of the cold and Draco’s kisses. It was another snapshot of their time together that had Hermione conflicted; she was happy to have a reminder but didn’t want to share it with the world.

_That was my moment—our moment. Draco told me he loved me not an hour before that …_

Draco mumbled a question and Kerry answered, “Rita Skeeter.”

_Merlin’s saggy left—_

“Hermione, how the hell did she get a picture of my son?!” Draco shouted.

Every head turned their way. Mrs. Shacklebolt shot a knowing glance at her husband and Hermione just stammered, “I … I ... don’t know.”

Draco looked scary. Not that his expression had changed much, and other than his white-knuckle grip on _Witch Weekly_ , his body language hadn’t changed. His tone was frighteningly calm as he said,

“Excuse me, I must go rip her fucking wings off.”

He Disapparated, leaving Hermione alone. She desperately wished Harry had come. Hermione flipped to the article and was surprised by the vitriol.

 

> Were you shocked to find out Hermione Granger was dating Draco Malfoy? Did it seem unbelievable? Almost like it came out of nowhere? Bombshell: this isn’t a love match. While Lord Malfoy has already professed his love for her, multiple sources confirm to _Witch Weekly_ that the world’s most infamous divorcee is only in the relationship to further her career and enhance her finances.
> 
> It is no secret Hermione Granger is the favourite for the Ministry’s open undersecretary position. However, her status was in doubt when it was revealed she did not have a husband, a boyfriend, or any hint of a life outside the Ministry of Magic. Her coworkers referred to her as “unstable” and at times “a couple Knuts short of a Sickle.” When she ran into Lord Malfoy, she realized he was the perfect solution to her problem. Two years removed from his wife’s death, Draco Malfoy was finally ready to step back into the world of dating and Hermione saw an opportunity.
> 
> Since Ms. Granger’s divorce from a fellow member of the Golden Trio, she has been deeply in debt and moving from place to place every six month to skip out on yearlong leases. Her Ministry job does not pay well, and since no publisher offered her a book deal as they did for Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, Ms. Granger was left unable to afford the lifestyle to which she was accustomed. When she ran into Lord Malfoy, she saw herself delivering two letters with one owl: appearing stable for the hiring committee and paying off her debts.
> 
> The biggest hurdle to clear was Lord Malfoy’s son, who appeared not to like her from the beginning. During their outings, the young boy is frequently seen away from Hermione, or Lord Malfoy declines to bring him at all. She has given him presents and promised to love him, but according to sources close to the Malfoy family it is evident the boy will never think of her as a maternal figure. Children sometimes really do know best.
> 
> After being burned by her ex-husband, Ms. Granger now seems content to take advantage of a lonely widower without care for consequence.
> 
> _Reporting by Rita Skeeter_

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the page in disbelief.

“None of this is true!” Hermione insisted. She brought a hand to her chest and corrected herself. “Alright, most of it is a lie. I did suggest Draco become my boyfriend to impress the committee, but it’s not like that! It was never really like that, I am quite fond of him. And I turned down those book deals because I thought it would be in poor taste to profit off the war! Especially while I was making enough money at the Ministry.”

People pretended to return to their sidebar conversations, but many of them were still obviously listening in. Penelope rushed over and insisted,

“I knew it wasn’t true! You would never do any of that.”

“Well,” Hermione admitted, “some of this is. I think that’s the problem. I do move every six months, but my leases are only ever that long. I am a fucking fantastic employee, but I don’t have to explain that to any of you. Draco wasn’t ready to date again, but I slightly pressured him into it and that was shitty of me, but I was desperate. I have never taken any of Draco’s money and I love his son. Scorpius Malfoy is the kindest, most endearing child you will ever meet and Draco is an amazing father who would do anything for that boy.

“If there is one thing I know about Rita Skeeter, she knows how to sell a lie: you wrap it up in the truth.”

Hermione had more than a few glasses of champagne and conjured up a chair so she could hide in the corner until Draco returned. When Ron came over to Hermione, she wished she was sober enough to Disapparate.

“Hermione, none of that garbage is true, right?” he asked. “You’d tell me if you needed anything.”

“I’d tell Harry,” Hermione answered too honestly. Ron flinched and Hermione hiccupped.

“I deserved that, but I’m here to vouch for you. Even if it is to Draco fucking Malfoy, I mean you really couldn’t have chosen someone else?” he asked, but his smile made clear he was teasing. Hermione slumped further down in her chair.

“I love him so much, Ron,” Hermione admitted. “He’s so great to me, to Scorpius, to his friends … He’s going to hate me because I keep getting him plastered on the cover of magazines and newspapers. Now that his son is involved, I don’t know what he’ll do. Ending it is probably what’s best for all of us. Scorpius doesn’t need to be involved, we both know what it’s like to be in magazines so young.”

“He won’t hate you, Hermione,” Ron insisted. “Trust me, as the foremost authority on being in love with you, I know he’ll come ‘round.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why?” Ron asked. Hermione sighed and stood to leave.

“Because he left without saying good-bye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and criticism are always appreciated.


	10. Chapter X: December 23rd/24th/25th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have never loved you more than I do in this moment."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The format is a little weird, you'll start off with a couple questions, just trust me that they'll be answered by the end of the chapter. Please forgive any spelling and grammar mistakes.

Hermione Flooed home.

By the time she kicked off her shoes she could barely keep her eyes open. She shuffled into her bedroom, pulled her dress over her head, and collapsed on the bed. It took a few minutes to work up the energy to crawl beneath the covers. Sleep wouldn’t come. Too many unknown variables, too many thoughts bounced around inside her head.

_Perhaps being alone is a good thing. I never wanted to drag Draco and Scorpius into the news, not when they’ve worked so hard to stay hidden. They deserve better than this. I should focus on what I want._

_Draco was right all along; I didn’t need him to get this job. I don’t need this job, they need me. Hell, I don’t even want this job! I want to make a difference and maybe the Ministry isn’t the place to do it._

_I just don’t know what else I want._

**.oOo.**

Come hell or high water, Romilda Vane would be at her desk at 8 AM. When she arrived at the IMC on Christmas Eve to see Director Granger already in her office, Romilda probably assumed she was dreaming. In the past seven years Hermione had arrived before ten o’clock only five times, each for an international incident only she was fit to handle.

“Is the world ending?” Romilda asked.

“Quite the opposite, I think,” Hermione sighed. She looked up at her secretary and frowned.

“I have been keeping the world together for the past eighteen years. Do … Do you think it’s okay if I don’t want to do it anymore?”

Romilda blinked twice before blurting out,

“I know what happened with you and Draco. Ron told Ginny who told me and I don’t want you to do something rash because of … Draco Malfoy is a good person, but so are you. If you are leaving, then all I can say is to make sure it’s what you want. If you stay, I can make sure no one in the office ever utters the name ‘Draco’ or ‘Malfoy’ ever again.”

An awkward silence stretched between them for several seconds. Hermione shifted topics.

“Why do you work for me?”

“Because you’re the best,” Romilda answered.

“The best at what?”

“Making peoples’ lives better.”

_Oh._

Hermione hadn’t expected that.

“Do you think I make peoples’ lives better here?” she asked.

“I think it’s what you’ll do wherever you are,” Romilda replied.

Hermione couldn’t help but pull Romilda into a hug. She knew she made the right decision, but it was nice to get some confirmation.

“A couple memos were fighting on your desk when I got in.”

Hermione placed the final draft of her letter in her bag and sighed before walking out of her office. She expected to feel sad or worried for the future, but really it just felt right. Then Romilda giggled. She turned to face Hermione and said,

“My friend in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement sent me this,” she held up the memo. “Rita Skeeter was fined six-hundred fifty Galleons for intentional defamation, which cost her the column at the _Daily Prophet._ ”

“That was quick,” Hermione observed.

“An additional three-hundred Galleons for trespassing on Malfoy Manor grounds. Which explains how she got that adorable photo of the three of you. She could make a real career out of that.”

“Don’t suggest it,” Hermione warned. Romilda cleared her throat and read on.

“She also lost her gig at _Witch Weekly_. My friend in their publishing department—“

“You have a lot of friends.”

“—sent me an advance copy of their Christmas issue. It’s ... Well, see for yourself.”

Romilda held out the copy and Hermione groaned when she saw herself once again on the cover. The photo was from their trip to Diagon Alley on Saturday, their first public date. (Christmas shopping, of all things.) The cover photo, one of many taken that day by gaping passers-by, was simply Draco and Hermione holding hands. The caption?

“CHRISTMAS APOLOGIES”

Hermione flipped through the pages until she found the article, positioned next to another full-page photo.

_Witch Weekly offers a sincere apology to Lord Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger for running a false story in our December 20 th issue. WW strives for authenticity and journalistic integrity and in this case we failed at both. The author of the piece no longer writes for this publication. Hermione Granger is a superb witch who has never taken money from Lord Malfoy or attempted to deceive him in any way. She is a distinguished Ministry employee and the world owes her a great deal. _

_We also apologize to Scorpius Malfoy, as children should never be featured in a publication without the consent of their guardian. It will not happen again._

_We wish the three of you a very happy Christmas._

“What the actual fuck?!” Hermione asked before she could catch herself. Romilda laughed.

“No one does payback as well as the Malfoys, Ms. Granger.” She smiled. “No rest for the wicked.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione had never been in Chief Healer Shacklebolt’s office. It was polished and professional, a complete contrast to her own which was always a whir of unanswered memos and angry diplomats. The left wall of Kerry Shacklebolt’s office was covered in various degrees, certifications, and photographs Hermione examined on the way in.

“Are a Muggle doctor?” Hermione asked, both shocked and impressed as she stared at a degree from Johns Hopkins.

“Yes,” Mrs. Shacklebolt answered. “I graduated from Ilvermorny, got my GED, went to university then med school. I started at the wizard hospital in Chicago and worked there for a few years before transferring to New York. I worked my way up for a year before, well ... The Chief Healer over there had a headache and couldn’t find a potion to cure it.”

“What did you do?” Hermione asked.

“I gave the motherfucker some Aspirin and a half hour later he thought I was the next coming of Merlin. Promoted me to his deputy on the spot.”

Hermione laughed as Mrs. Shacklebolt sat in the chair behind her desk.

“Why would you do all that? It’s a lot of work, a lot of education to put yourself through.”

Kerry Shacklebolt sighed like she was feeling the weight of those fifteen years for the first time.

“Most people live in one world. Wizards live in the wizarding world and Muggles live in the Muggle world … It is what it is. As Muggle-borns, Hermione, we are the only ones who can understand them both. I chose to be a doctor, to be a Healer to help save people. I went through medical school and Healer training because if I can heal someone it shouldn’t matter whether they have magic. You took much bigger risks than I did for the same purpose. I just want to help. So, Hermione, what can I do for you?”

Hermione nervously sat down and started biting a thumbnail.

“I have a grant application. A research grant, I, um, I have no experience but there’s something—“

“You’ve never been one to beat around the bush, Hermione. Spit it out.”

“There’s someone I want to help.”

**.oOo.**

Hermione had half a mind to ditch the selection dinner. She stopped at home to change in the early afternoon, but was on the go for the next several hours. She stopped at Harry’s house for a time, in need of a friend and a pep talk. Two things, she realized, she’d gotten more from Draco than anyone else in the past month. She was just barely on time to dinner.

It was some fancy restaurant in Manchester which Hermione found rather lacking as Draco had been hell-bent on taking her to Zabini establishments. The bar had been raised significantly. Hermione sat at the table and glanced at each of the committee members in turn. Padma sat to her left, the two of them positioned like they were on trial and ready to receive a verdict. Hermione sipped from her water glass and waived away a menu.

“That won’t be necessary, I will not be here long.”

The committee was comprised of high-level executives. All five of them (Minister Shacklebolt, Penelope Clearwater, Thomas Battlehunt, Macy Buttermere, and Hestia Jones) looked rather stunned either by her admission or that she’d shown up at all. No point in wasting time, so she began,

“First, the premise of that article is true. Draco and I began dating as a ruse to help me impress you. I feel it is imperative I also tell you our relationship was genuine and my love for him remains true. He owes me nothing.

“Second, I am withdrawing my name from consideration for Senior Undersecretary.”

Their jaws dropped simultaneously and Hermione had to cough to cover up a chuckle.

“But—Hermione we were going to choose you,” Penelope said, exasperated. Padma glowered at her in response.

“I would be terrible at this job,” Hermione admitted. Minister Shacklebolt laughed. “All this time I really wanted to make the world better. The Ministry is not where I want to be. I would hate it, I would hate myself, and we all deserve better than what I would be doing.

“That said, Padma is more than a default. She is diligent and smart and she wants to be here. She fought alongside me years ago, fighting for what was right. I am confident she will do the same for you, Minister.” Hermione pulled a piece of parchment from her bag and handed it to Minster Shacklebolt.

“I am resigning as Director of the Office of International Magical Cooperation, effective January 1st. As I understand it, Senior Undersecretary Patil, here, will be in need of an executive assistant. Should Romilda Vane apply, I expect you will contact me as a reference. I will tell you now she is the best candidate you will get and a promotion is long overdue.”

Somehow, through all this, Kingsley Shacklebolt had watched Hermione with an amused expression. She suspected his wife had let him in on her intentions. He accepted her resignation as the others stared, stunned and confused. She rose from her seat and said,

“This is a business meeting and I really have no place here now. Please excuse me.”

**.oOo.**

It was past nine when Hermione finally Apparated back to her house. It had been two days since she’d gotten any decent sleep and, well, any nearby Amortentia would have smelled like pillows.

_And Draco. But mostly pillows. Draco’s pillows?_

Someone was snoring softly on her couch. Hermione sluggishly walked over to her living area and saw Scorpius Malfoy resting comfortably on two cushions, wrapped in one of her blankets. Any doubt she had about her decision vanished. She was on the right path at last. Hermione smiled for a moment before thinking,

_Where is your father?_

“Here,” Draco said from her kitchen. Hermione realized she must’ve spoken that thought aloud.

“Why?” Hermione turned to ask. “Why are you here?”

“To apologize, mostly,” Draco admitted. He stared sheepishly into his glass of water. “I saw red when Kerry handed me that magazine. Scorpius was not supposed to be outed for a long time and there he was, right there on the cover of the most-read tabloid in Britain. What I did—I wasn’t thinking. I admonished you twice for leaving without saying good-bye and yet I did just that. I apologize, Hermione.”

“I don’t want to do this to you,” she said. “The both of you are better off alone, better off without me dragging you into the press like this.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, his voice rising.

“I’m saying that we should end this before—“ Hermione fell silent as she looked out her window. Her tree was filled with blinking blue and white fairy lights. She smiled softly and said, “You redecorated my tree.”

“Scorpius enjoyed it. Good God, it took the boy ages to decide which colours he wanted. ‘Father, do you think Miss Mione likes purple?’ but imagine that for the better part of a half hour.”

“You know, he’s the reason I quit my job.”

Draco choked on a sip of water and dissolved into a quiet coughing fit. Hermione cautiously glanced at Scorpius, who snuggled further down into the blanket.

“You did what? Bloody hell, I thought I’d been busy—what the hell have you been doing?”

Hermione sighed and sat on the arm of her couch.

“The first thing your son ever told me was that I was too good for the Ministry. Something he heard from you.” Hermione paused when Draco murmured in affirmation. “Then you never shut up about how I didn’t need you to get this position—“

“You never did.”

“—and you were right,” Hermione agreed. “I understand now that being at the Ministry isn’t what I want.”

“What do you want, then?” Draco asked. Hermione sighed again.

“I don’t feel like telling you all this right now. It’s … It’s a lot. It has been a long day.”

“Fine then,” Draco huffed, “go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

**.oOo.**

Christmas morning was weird. Hermione woke around seven with the immediate feeling she was forgetting something. She rolled off the bed and felt her way to the sink. Once she was really awake (After brushing her teeth and washing her face while semi-conscious.) she pulled her hair back and wandered toward the smell of bacon.

Draco was there in her kitchen, just as he said he would be. Both he and Scorpius had changed, Draco in a grey sweater with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Hermione stared at the faint red lines on the inside of his left forearm, the skull and snake so muted it could easily be overlooked by anyone who didn’t already know it was there. There were lights in her tree, a small pile of presents in the living room corner, and a Malfoy flipping scotch pancakes in the kitchen.

_Bacon and pancakes. Truly, a man after my heart. Why are you here? Why is your son here? Why do you even still want to speak to me? Now everyone knows about Scorpius and it is because of me. Don’t you have somewhere better to be?_

But all she said was, “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Where do you think Blaise had space to practice?” Draco asked with a smile. “His mother being, well, his mother, it was easier for both of them to be apart. I can cook the basics, but that’s where my abilities end.”

“Miss Mione!” Scorpius poked his head overtop the couch. “Father and I brought you a Christmas present!” He smiled, Hermione smiled, and Draco rolled his eyes.

“Scorp, you weren’t supposed to tell her yet.”

“Oh!” His eyes widened and he put both hands over his mouth. Hermione laughed and rubbed her eyes.

“When you said you liked breakfast food, I didn’t realize it would be practically the only thing you had in your cupboards. Do you not believe in groceries?”

“I don’t stock a house I am rarely in,” Hermione countered. Draco handed Scorpius a plate of cut-up pancakes, strawberries, and bacon. He took the plate back to the living room and Draco groaned.

“No, Scorp, manners! The table! We eat at the table.”

“But you said we can eat anywhere at home,” he whined. Hermione and Draco fell silent as they watched Scorpius walk, dejected, over to the dining room table.

_He’s the first person to ever think of this place like home._

“Anyway,” Draco said once Scorpius took a seat, “you were telling me last night that my son is the reason you quit your job.” He eyed Scorpius warily, clearly not confident in his son’s ability to use cutlery.

“Yeah,” Hermione yawned. She looked down at her pajamas and said, “I should change.”

“Fine,” Draco snapped. When Hermione returned in her own sweater and jeans, Draco’s expression softened. Hermione said,

“I know what you did. Getting Rita Skeeter fired? The fines? The retraction in _Witch Weekly_ was you, too, wasn’t it?”

“You missed the best part,” Draco teased. “She’s been blackballed from every periodical in Britain. I have lots of well-placed friends, and it seems just about everyone else in media is afraid of me. Rightfully so, it turns out. The only publishing house willing to hire Rita Skeeter will send her to write a book on magical creatures in the Arctic Circle. Do you know what can’t survive in the Polar Regions, Hermione?”

“Hmm?” she murmured.

“Beetles.”

Hermione was impressed. He sent Rita Skeeter to the one place she couldn’t transform, the one place she couldn’t cause them much harm. (As far away from Scorpius as she could be.) Draco Malfoy was a manipulative genius.

“I have never loved you more than I do in this moment,” Hermione said, sufficiently awestruck. Draco blushed and looked down to flip a pancake.

“Your turn,” he replied. Hermione tapped her fingers against the bar, suddenly very anxious.

“They were going to offer me the Senior Undersecretary position. I declined and resigned. The Ministry isn’t the place I want to be right now,” she said, hoping it would suffice.

She should have known better. Draco looked a little lost, so Hermione took the next plate of pancakes and started munching until he spoke again.

“Where do you want to be?” Something in his voice wavered like he was afraid of the answer. Like he was afraid the answer wouldn’t be “ _Here with you.”_

“St. Mungo’s,” she said. “I begin Healer training in the new year.”

“You want to be a Healer now?” Draco asked. He looked as though he didn’t know how to react properly. Hermione supposed she owed him the full explanation.

“Of sorts. I’ve never been particularly good at healing people, but I am quite good at research. To research at the hospital you must go through Healer training. It shouldn’t be hard, considering my N.E.W.T. scores, and the hospital is reviewing my grant request to study blood-borne illnesses. Once you mentioned your wife died of a blood disease, I tried to research the curse but we have nothing on it. All we know is that it is genetic.”

“Her great-great-great-great grandfather was cursed,” Draco confirmed. “Seven generations of separation. We have no idea why it showed up in Astoria and none why Daphne wasn’t affected.”

Hermione whispered, “I don’t know what that means for her son. I don’t like not knowing. When I realized no one had the answer I had to find it. Maybe it’s not just for Scorpius—maybe this research will lead to things that help many people. But working where I am now doesn’t help Scorpius and it doesn’t help you.”

Draco stared intently at the pancake until it started to burn. He tossed it into the bin and sighed.

“Astoria and I spent the bulk of 2004 arguing about whether to have a child. My most effective point was that we didn’t know if her child would be cursed, or what kind of life he could have. I was happy with her and that’s all I needed.” Draco smiled, still staring at the empty pan. “Of course, there were too many variables and Scorp has always been healthy.

“Valentine’s Day in 2005, we were both too fucking drunk on Firewhiskey and, well,” Draco just gestured toward the dining room, “Fate had a different plan, it seems. I always worry about that uncertainty, but I never told you. How do you always know?”

“I watched Harry lose Sirius, I watched Ron lose Fred, and the war took someone from everyone. I am tired of watching it happen. I thought maybe I could do something by joining the IMC, by keeping the world together and out of war. If I can help prevent someone from losing the people they love, I will. The Ministry isn’t where I can help anymore. Hopefully Scorpius never gets sick and this is all for nothing, but I will do what it takes to help your son.”

Draco walked around the bar to crush Hermione in a hug.

“I have never loved you more than I do in this moment,” Draco said. His tone with both sincere and teasing as he threw Hermione’s words back at her. She returned his hug and hid her smile in his sweater.

Hermione Granger was in love with Draco Malfoy and his soft jumpers and his lackluster cooking skills. She loved Scorpius Malfoy. She loved the way she fit in with Draco’s friends. She hadn’t had family in a long time, and Draco was willing to make her part of his.

_What more can I ask for?_

“To have you dedicated to researching whatever killed my wife, to whatever might affect my son … That is the best Christmas present I could’ve asked for.” Draco kissed Hermione’s forehead and tipped her chin up so he could make eye contact. “Thank you, Hermione, from the deepest part of whatever remains of my soul. I don’t deserve this, and I thank you.”

“Well, you gave me what I wanted,” Hermione admitted with a sappy smile.

“What’s that?” Draco asked, confusion knitting his brows together.

“A home for Christmas,” she replied.

**.oOo.**

Scorpius loved his presents. Most of them were new books, accompanied by some toys, and cookies from “Uncle Blaise” and “Uncle Dean.” He’d opened them sitting in Hermione’s lap as Draco pulled from the pile. It was the best Christmas Hermione ever had.

“Father! Give Miss Mione her present!” Scorpius demanded, clapping his hands at his father like he would a house-elf. Draco stopped that with a stern glance and retrieved one final wrapped box from the kitchen counter. Scorpius leapt up from Hermione’s lap and grabbed onto his father’s pant leg, trying to drag him closer faster. Draco laughed and pulled Scorpius into his lap as he sat on the ground. It took both hands to hand it to her, and Hermione immediately knew it was a book.

“My idea!” Scorpius insisted.

“Yes, this was technically Scorp’s idea. However, he wanted to get you a copy of _Babbity Rabbity._ I thought, well, there is one book I know you love and for some reason don’t have on your pathetic excuse for a bookshelf.”

“Don’t insult my bookshelf, Draco Malfoy,” Hermione teased.

“Open the gift, Hermione,” he replied softly, with all the confidence in the world. She raised an eyebrow but obliged, tearing off the paper and lifting the lid. She gasped and her eyes were definitely not watering.

Inside was the most ornate copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ she’d ever seen. The last time her heart beat this fast over a book, she was looking at the original manuscript in the Hogwarts library. This copy was leather-bound, with elaborate lettering on the cover set next to the castle’s silhouette. Hermione pulled the book out and set the box aside. She flipped open the cover and sighed contentedly as the new-book smell crept up from the pages. The tears tracked down her cheeks of their own volition as she read the dedication:

> _To Hermione Jean Granger, it has been my sincerest wish this holiday season to make you happy. Whatever joy I have brought you during our short time together, rest assured that you have returned the favour tenfold. I fell in love with you—all of you, bruised and scarred, some of which was a direct result of my inaction. I look at you and see everything I hope my son will be, areas in which I failed. You are a fighter, a survivor, someone who took on the world when it was wrong and won. Everyone has told you that you are the brightest witch of your age, but you let me in on the secret: you think with your heart. I’d bet all the money in my Gringotts vault that is why the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor and why you have more courage, more resilience than anyone I have ever met. Thank you for the kindness you have shown my family, and for showing me how good it could feel to open my heart again. I only hope I have done the same for you. Happy Christmas, Hermione._
> 
> _-Draco_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you catch that #TitleDrop? Draco's gift to Hermione was inspired by (read: ripped from) the best Dramione fic I've ever read, ["A Muggle-born Magic"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/21214). I am so grateful to all of you who are reading this and will make the epilogue worth your while. Comments and criticism are always appreciated.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The proposal you (hopefully) wanted.

“Father, when are you going to marry Hermione?”

It was like Draco was standing in a snow globe and someone had given it a great big shake.

He had been talking with Dean and Blaise, but the world stops turning for a question like that. Dean couldn’t suppress a smile as he picked up his godson and asked,

“Yeah, Draco, when are you going to marry Hermione?”

Scorp was clutching one of those Muggle books Hermione read to him. Such a ridiculous set of fairytales, hell, the pictures don’t even move! But Scorp had taken to them and Draco had put up such a fight it was the one time he thought Hermione would actually leave.

“Magic doesn’t even work like that!” Draco shouted at her. “Life sure as hell doesn’t, either!”

“Just because we lost our chances at happy endings the first time around, doesn’t mean you get to take that idea away from him!”

“I never wanted him to believe it was a possibility!” Draco shouted back. The look on Hermione’s face made him want to grab the words out of the air and stuff them back down his throat.

“Do I not make you happy enough?!” Hermione had asked. Shouted at him, more like, grabbing her wand and threatening to Apparate to the nearest hotel. “Is that what this is about? You lost your first chance and you don’t think you can have it again.”

…

Scorpius kept the books. Not that Draco was particularly thrilled with them, but he wasn’t going to lose Hermione over something so trivial. That night with his godfathers, Scorp had chosen Cinderella. (Draco referred to it as, “The One with the Shoe.”)

“That’s the best one,” Dean said as they walked to his room. Blaise sighed after him and admitted to Draco,

“I’m dying not telling him.”

Draco nodded.

“It never seems to be the right time, though. She’s busy right now with Healer training and I do not want to be a distraction.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Blaise scolded.

Truth be told, Draco was nervous as hell. He convinced Hermione to move into the manor because, “It’d be easier on both of us.” Getting married was an entirely different sort of commitment. One he wanted so badly. Once he turned thirty, Draco felt far enough away from the shameful seventeen-year-old version of himself that he could ask her. Maybe.

But why would Hermione say yes? Her Healer training would end in December and she could begin her research early in the new year. Draco would raid his Gringotts vault and dump a thousand Galleons on Kerry Shacklebolt’s desk if that’s what it took to fund it. He told Minister Shacklebolt as much at Hermione’s birthday celebration, when a tipsy Romilda remarked, “Better save enough so you can get this girl the engagement ring she deserves!”

Ah, yes, that small circle in his breast pocket, the weight of which could drag him down to the floor.

Draco had taken Blaise shopping with strict orders not to tell his husband because, “I don’t want Hermione to know before I’ve even purchased the damn thing.” He found the perfect ring, shaking off Blaise’s constant “bigger is better” lecture. Hermione wouldn’t want a ring that might interfere with work. He chose a round ruby, encircled by two layers of small diamonds, nineteen in total. 

“It was different with Astoria, you know. We were so excited and being first love it was obvious when the time was right. With Hermione everything is a little more difficult. It hasn’t felt right yet.”

Blaise glared at him.

“But you are going to ask.”

“Of course, of course,” Draco shook him off. “There’s just something else I have to do.”

**.oOo.**

He visited Weasley in early September, thinking he might surprise Hermione on her birthday. (He didn’t.) Potter gave Weasley the heads-up. Thank Merlin for that because, “I’m going to ask your ex-wife to marry me,” is a strange thing to say to a person.

“You’re serious?” had been Weasley’s initial reaction. “You’re really going to ask Hermione to marry you? Hermione’s going to become a Malfoy?”

“Oh, God, no!” Draco insisted. “I’d never insist she take the name unless she wants to. Hermione Malfoy …” Both of them cringed a little bit. “Yeah, it sounds a bit wrong off the tongue, doesn’t it?”

“Why are you doing this?” Ron asked. “After everything you did to us, to her, how could you possibly want to spend the rest of your life with her?”

“I might ask you why you didn’t,” Draco shot back. Before Ron could open his stupid mouth again, Draco’s temper got the best of him.

“Why the hell does it always come back around to this?! I love her. I am in love with Hermione and we’re a real fucked-up family, Weasley, but we have become a family. You know as well as anyone that I am a very selfish person and yes, I want to make sure Hermione is mine for as long as I live. That is why I am going to ask her to marry me.”

“She might say no,” Ron insisted, and Draco agreed.

“I just …” Draco clenched his jaw because God knows he hated supplicating himself to Ron Weasley like this. “I want to make sure you are alright with this. If you are not, I am going to ask her anyway because fuck you, but man-to-man I thought it’d be appropriate for me to tell you before I did it.”

“Weirdly enough, I appreciate that,” Weasley said.

“Good.”

“You’re still a prick.”

“I’ve been called worse,” Draco said.

“I’ve called you worse,” Ron replied, but offered his hand.

**.oOo.**

After a particularly rough day of training in November, her first overnight, Hermione returned to the manor in a terrible mood. Draco hoped there would be a particular brand of celebration, as it was November 24th. He sent Scorpius to his godparents’ home for a couple days to allow for as much _celebrating_ as they wanted on their anniversary. Hermione had other intentions. She blew by Draco when he tried to greet her, threw her lime green robes on the floor, and flung herself onto their bed. He leaned against the doorframe and asked,

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Which meant yes, so Draco waited a couple seconds before—

“I’m no good at this. Healing people, making things better … It feels like I am only of use once things have already fallen apart.”

“Isn’t that what healing people is about?” Draco asked. Hermione flipped him off without lifting her face from the pillows.

“Go fuck yourself, Draco Malfoy,” Hermione shot back. She would do that sometimes, and Draco was alright during most of them. But he wasn’t just then, patience be damned.

“Do you want me to tell you to quit, Hermione?” Draco asked, irate. “Are you fishing for that? I won’t be your excuse. You want me to tell you that you’re no good at dealing with people who disagree with you? You know that already. You are shit at a lot of things, Hermione, but no perfect person could do the things you’ve done.”

“The things I’ve done?” Hermione laughed. “I left my husband alone so often that he cheated on me. I got divorced. I worked my staff into the ground at the IMC, and now … I am so out of my depth here, Draco, I really am. And you are the only good thing in my life and if we’re being honest I conned you into that, too. You’re right—no perfect person would do that.”

Draco ran a hand over his face and groaned.

“Don’t ever say you conned me into this, Hermione. We both know better. In less than a month you’ll be a Healer!”

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, as though her frustration had evaporated and all that was left was a sort of sadness.

“They hate me, Draco,” she admitted. “The other Healers don’t like me at all. It’s like I’m not welcome there, and they yell at me for the stupidest—whatever.

“’Healer’ is just another label. I have so many. ‘Golden Girl,’ ‘Mudblood,’ ‘Brightest witch of her age,’ ‘Director of the Department of International Magical—‘”

“Malfoy?” Draco asked.

Hermione looked at him, confused and tired. Draco thought he would be scared or that his heart might start racing, but really he saw everything with stark clarity. It was time. Astoria would always weigh on Draco’s heart, making it a bit heavier than it used to be. However, Hermione was an indispensable part of his family and there was only one way he knew to make that clear.

“Malfoy,” Draco repeated. “If you’ll have it, I want to add my name to the list.”

Hermione blinked twice and yawned. Her eyes were wide and fearful as she made the ends of her sleeves into sweater paws.

“What’s happening?”

Draco walked over to the edge of the bed, dropped down to a knee, and watched as Hermione processed what was happening.

“Marry me?” he asked. The more Draco thought about it, the more he felt like his insides were righting themselves. The snow globe had stopped shaking, the snow had settled, and the world was steady again. Hermione’s mouth moved but she couldn’t seem to find words for a few moments.

“Are you serious?!”

Draco smiled and nodded as Hermione covered her mouth with both hands. She curled in on herself, uncertain.

“Will you do me the honour of becoming Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy, Order of Merlin Second Class, Healer, and mother to the best Malfoy the world has ever known?” Draco pulled out the ring from his pocket and shrugged. “Or Hermione Jean Granger, no Malfoy. Or Hermione Jean Malfoy-Granger. Or hell, I’ll take your name if you want, just say you’ll marry me and—“

“Yes,” Hermione nodded.

“—I’ll do whatever you damn well please. Wait, sorry, what?”

“I said yes.”

“Oh my God,” he replied, stunned. “OhmyGodyes, Merlin on high,” Draco slid the ring onto Hermione’s finger. He kissed her, both hands on either side of her face, and accidentally toppled them backward onto the bed in his enthusiasm. No worries though, since that was exactly where he wanted to be.

Draco tossed his jacket on the floor and started undoing the buttons on his shirt. He kissed her again, on the lips, the cheek, her neck …

“I thought you were never going to ask!” Hermione admitted, a little out of breath.

“I didn’t think you would say yes!” Draco said. He huffed once he got his shirt buttons undone, realizing he wasn’t quite finished. He held out his wrists to Hermione so she could undo his cufflinks.

“But I love you, Draco Malfoy, my trophy fiancée,” she teased back, ruffling his hair.

“Marry me soon so I can be your trophy husband,” he insisted. She playfully pushed him backward, placed his cufflinks on the bedside table, and said,

“You know, when I ran into you I was running away from so many things, so many problems, and somehow you of all people were the answer. You helped me figure out what I want to do with this part of my life, then gave me the courage to pursue it. Most importantly, you gave me a family. So I’m saying yes.”

Draco kissed her cheek.

“Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy,” he smiled. “Merlin help us all. You’ve given me so much happiness, I’ll spend the rest of my life doing the same for you. I promise.” He pressed a delicate kiss to her knuckles.

“You’ve done one better,” Hermione said, smiling.

“Hmm? How’s that?”

“You gave me a home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! 
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr here.](http://www.queenofstarkness.tumblr.com) (Which you should definitely do if you have any interest in beta-ing my work because that would be fabulous.) I have two other Dramione works: [one is complete](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8289256/chapters/18988897) and [one is in-progress.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10725501/chapters/23766429) Thank you all so much for reading this fic and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Much love, and I wish you all the best in 2018.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism are always appreciated.


End file.
